


Witch Way?

by ArwenLalaith



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Choose Your Own Adventure, Dragons, F/F, Gideon is a Tree, Princess Emily - Freeform, Reader is a Changeling, Seer JJ, Sphinx Cat Adams, Wizard Rossi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 31,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLalaith/pseuds/ArwenLalaith
Summary: Choose Your Own Adventure: You're a sorceress carrying on a secret relationship with Princess Emily when, one day, you're called before the Queen... The Queen despises all magic users and you fear that your tryst has been discovered. Instead, the Queen tells you that the Princess has fallen gravely ill and you're the only one who has any hope of saving the Princess' life.





	1. Yellow 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've never done anything like this before and I have no idea if it "works". I used an old old CYOA story from a magazine as a guideline. I hope most of it makes sense. You'll notice if you play through all the options, I've reused some of the text because this shit was hard... Anyway. Enjoy!

The great gilded wooden door has a dull thud to it when you knock. You've never been here before – at least, not through the front door... You're used to sneaking in through the escape tunnels late at night, long after the Queen has retired to her bed chambers and won't catch you with her daughter.

On either side of the castle doors stands a guard dragon and you try to avoid meeting their eyes. Looking a dragon in the eye was a sign of great disrespect and even the greyhound-sized guard dragons were liable to do great damage when they felt disrespected. Afterall, even a guard dragon has teeth and claws and flames, none of which are any match for human skin.

One of the dragons blows a great tuft of smoke through its nostrils. You toss first one dragon, then the other, a piece of dried rabbit meat from your pocket. Both dragons start wagging their tails, remembering you, Bringer of Rabbit Meat.

The door finally swings open with a groan of ancient hinges (another reason you tend to choose routes other than the front door). The young pageboy peers owlishly at you for a moment as if he can't quite believe it's really you; it's a reaction you've long since gotten used to. He stands back to allow you entrance with a great sweeping bow.

When he looks up, meets your eye, you wink at him with a subtle smile and his cheeks immediately pink with shyness. You know he's a favourite of the Princess – she'd rescued him from a band of rebel warriors when she'd come across their camp while riding one day and she'd refused the Queen's demands that he be sent to the orphanage.

Wordlessly, he leads you along the long winding corridors to the Princess's bed chambers and you bite down the urge to tell him you already know the way by heart. "Thank you, Jack," you whisper to him once you arrive outside the chamber doors and hand him a peppermint stick you'd bought from the a sweet merchant you'd come across in your travels.

He grins up at you, clutching the lolly to his chest like it is a great prize, bows again before scampering off.

Shaking your head, you enter the room, lowering yourself into a curtsey, as is protocol when coming face to face with royalty, though you and the Princess had long since moved past the need for propriety. "Your Majesties," you greet.

"You may rise," the Queen decrees. She's watching you with interest, though it's not quite clear whether there's approval or distaste there as well. "I take it you received my summons?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." A great scarlet parrot had arrived with the summons yesterday and you'd ridden through the night to reach the castle as quickly as possible. "Your letter said it was a matter of great urgency."

The Queen's face turns grave then, her gaze falling on her daughter's lifeless form lain on the bed looking like a porcelain doll – the kind you could never afford in a hundred lifetimes. "She fell ill three days ago. Yesterday, her handmaiden failed to wake her. I fear she's fallen victim to the Spindle Sickness."

Your stomach sinks at those words. If it truly was the Spindle Sickness, there was little you could do for her. Victims of the Spindle Sickness – also known as Aurora's Curse – would invariably fall into an impossibly deep sleep three days after infection, never to be roused again, neither dead nor truly alive. Silently, you examine the Princess, praying to the Gods that the Queen was wrong in her fears.

Your reputation precedes you around the Four Kingdoms, both revered and shunned in turn, name spoken in whispers or not at all. Magic is a rare gift these days and often sought after, though not always with pure intent – the organs of those with magic were rumoured to have curative properties, making magic users a highly-valued target of poachers. And, to some people (the Queen being one of them), magic users were seen as little better than animals, worth only as much as the black market value of their hides.

You were one of the last surviving magic users and the only one gifted by the Gods with the healing art, which is why the Queen had summoned you, in spite of her prejudices. Had it not been for the Princess, you wouldn't have agreed to come...

"It's not the Spindle Sickness," you pronounce, finding no tell-tale mark on the Princess's finger. Your face is grim in spite of the news. "I fear, though, it's the Great Pox," you continue, watching the colour drain from the Queen's face.

"Are you absolutely certain?" the Queen asks, clutching her heart like it might leap from her chest (which _almost never_ happened anymore).

"I cannot be certain until the pox start to form, but by then it will be too late," you say gravely. You wish it was something else, anything else.

"Is there nothing you can do?" the Queen pressed, desperate, knowing it to very likely be a death sentence. The Great Pox was often considered to be a 'peasant illness', but it could kill a Princess just as easily as a pauper.

"There is a cure..." you say cautiously, "A tiny purple flower whose nectar can vanquish the sickness, but it grows only in the middle of the Dark Forest and it must be carefully prepared to be effective."

"Is there no other way?"

You shake your head sadly. "It is the Princess's only hope."

"Then you must travel there immediately," the Queen insists, tipping up her chin imperiously.

"The Dark Forest..." you warn, "It's...impassible. Few who venture inside are ever seen again. And that's _if _you can make it through the surrounding rebel territory alive..." You already know you're going in search of the flower. Not because the Queen has asked it of you, but because you love the Princess and nothing in the Four Kingdoms will stand in the way of saving her life.

"You _must_," the Queen demands, ignoring your warning.

You nod once, knowing that if you refuse a direct command from the Queen, you'll never be welcome in the Kingdom of Laurentia again, likely upon penalty of death. "I'll set off at once," you agree, repacking your supplies in your satchel.

The Queen seems pleased by your easy agreement. She reaches into the Princess's jewelry box, pulling out a pearl embroidered handkerchief. "You'll take the Princess's favour with you," she says, handing the fine ivory linen square to you.

Reverently, you trace the letter 'E' stitched into the corner in golden thread, a ghost of a smile crossing your lips. You'd spent six months of earnings to have this handkerchief made for the Princess's birthday. The Queen obviously had no idea or she'd almost certainly have set fire to it long ago and locked Emily in the Dragon's Keep.

You curtsey deeply to the Queen, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of your cloak. "Your Majesty. I will do my best to return with the flower with all due haste. If I should die in my quest, know that it was an honour to have done so in the name of Princess Emily."

**You set off, following the Merchant Road, leading to the Kingdom of Morgana.**

**Go to Blue 5.**


	2. Yellow 2

You've never so much as seen a coffee bean in real life, let alone been in possession of a jar of the rare liquid and you're unsure why the Wizard would think that you might be. But if he truly expects you to have some to exchange for the remedy you seek, then you have very little hope of ever seeing the Princess alive indeed.

You shake your head once, twice, feeling tears building behind your eyes in spite of yourself. "I'm sorry, sir, but if it's coffee you seek, you'll have to look elsewhere. Perhaps, if you can help me save the Princess, the Queen will be able to supply you with some out of gratitude, but I am unable to..."

You stare down at the wood-hewn floor, scuffing the toe of your boot across the wood grain so that he cannot see the sparkle of tears in your eyes. You clear your throat to keep your voice from cracking and betraying your fragile emotional state.

"And if I say no?" the Wizard posits.

"Then the Princess will surely die," you repeat gravely. You lose your battle with the tears then, the first escaping to dribble down your cheek, creating a path that others eagerly follow. You hurriedly wipe them away only for them to be quickly replaced and you realize it's a losing battle. From your pocket, you pull the Princess' favour and though you can't help but think it's far too nice to sully with your tears, you dab gently at them with the delicate material.

For whatever reason, your tears seem to move the Grey Wizard. He holds up one finger in indication that you should wait and he disappears into a small room off the main sitting area where he proceeds to clatter and bang about in the small space to your great curiosity.

For a few minutes, the only sound is the great noise of the Wizard banging about and your soft sniffles and quiet hiccups as your tears slowly dry up. Something in the closet must fall then, because the Wizard lets out a string of colourful curses and you can't help but giggle softly in spite of your tremulous emotional state.

Eventually, the Wizard emerges again with a jar.

You feel your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. After everything, you can scarcely believe you've finally found what you'd set out for. "Is that...?" you manage to choke out.

"A jar of dried Freesia," the Wizard finishes for you, a kindly smile on his face as if he knows exactly what it is you've been through and how overjoyed you are to see the fruits of your labour finally before you. "As promised."

You breathe a sigh of relief, accepting the proffered Freesia. You cradle the jar to your chest like an infant as if afraid of it being taken from you. "But why?" you ask, looking back to the Wizard, stunned nearly to silence by his seemingly unwarranted kindness.

The Grey Wizard smiles paternally at you. "Because sometimes good wins," he says simply, "_Love _wins."

You continue to stare at him, one brow raised skeptically. "I was truly in love but once. I thought it would be enough to overcome any obstacle, but the truth is that there are some things even love cannot surmount. I see the way you care for the Princess and, as her Godfather, I want only the best, the truest, the purest love for her. I see no reason why I should stand in the way of your love and certainly no reason why I should let her die when I have the power to prevent it. There will be many obstacles you'll face in your lives together, but this need not be one of them."

You blink back more tears, these ones grateful and relieved. "How can I ever repay your kindness?" you ask. "I haven't much, but I'm certain the Queen will want to..."

The Wizard holds up a hand to stem the tide of your words. "You need not worry about payment. I've done this out of the kindness of my heart, not to receive reward. One day, when the time is right, the Gods will align our paths once again and maybe then, I shall be the one in need of a favour and I hope then that you will remember this day."

You smile brightly. "I will never forget it," you promise, tucking the jar safely in your satchel, wrapped neatly in a handkerchief to keep it from breaking.

Time has really gotten away from you and, in spite of the Wizard's welcoming home and delicious cooking, you know you must be continuing on your journey. You pull your cloak on around your shoulders, fastening it with its ornate clip about your neck, and shoulder your satchel.

At the door, the Grey Wizard pulls you in for an embrace and, close enough to your ear that his stubble scrapes your cheek, he whispers, "Keep your wits about you – your journey isn't over yet and the greatest threat may yet lie in front of you. Do not let your guard down, but do not despair, for so long as you have hope, the Princess does as well."

He pulls away, kisses you on both cheeks, offers you a smile that would seem to say he believes in you. You try to return it with that same faith.

He then presses a small bundle into your hands and, when you look at him with surprise and perhaps a little confusion, he winks. "I thought you might need sustenance on your journey."

You can't help your curiosity, peeking into the bundle to find he's packed you what appears to be a variety of home-baked biscotti, still warm from the oven. Your mouth is already watering, but you manage to restrain yourself from digging in just then.

You thank the Wizard most graciously for his hospitality and, exiting the cottage, climb into the saddle and gallop off through the forest, following the Wizard's directions, not entirely sure where he was leading you, but trusting him enough not to doubt him.

**Go to Purple 1.**


	3. Yellow 3

You tuck into the ravioli with gusto, letting out a little moan of pleasure as the taste hits your tongue. This pasta is the best thing you've ever eaten. The pasta is cooked perfectly al dente, the thick red sauce seasoned flavourfully, and the Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top is rich and salty. You can't help but think the Grey Wizard missed his calling as chef...

A chef of his calibre would have regents fighting over him – anything he asked for, he could have had. The fact that he's instead chosen a life of solitude and exile – the life of a magician – is baffling to you and you might've asked him why if you didn't fear doing so would be considered ill manners.

Of course, the thought is only in your head for a very short while before it's pushed right out of your mind by the more pressing matter of your growling stomach.

You scarf back the bowl like you haven't eaten in weeks, pausing only briefly to hope you aren't being rude to your gracious host who has busied himself digging through jars and boxes and assorted miscellany in what you hope is a search for Freesia.

He digs among his possessions like a badger digging a hole, sending items flying across the cabin with clinks and clatters and the occasional bang of something magical exploding into a shower of sparks. Your guard dragon is watching him with interest, slowly creeping ever closer to him until something explodes, sending him skittering away to the safety of the furthest corner.

As you swallow the last few bites of your meal, you start to feel drowsy, but you brush the feeling aside as the effects of a big meal and the fact that you'd started your journey quite early in the morning, so it's only natural that you'd be a little sleepy.

You reach for the nearby glass of water, downing the whole thing quickly, washing away the remaining sting of spices on your tongue. You can feel the cool liquid trickling down your throat and you suddenly realize that you'd been parched, not having stopped your journey long enough to drink from your waterskin. (Emily always said that when others were in need, you neglected yourself to the point of your own ruination...)

Thirst satiated, your head slowly starts to loll forward before snapping back to consciousness scant seconds later. You repeat the process again and again, staying asleep longer and longer until you can barely keep your eyes open.

Chin hitting your chest as you nod off, you let out a little snuffle, startling yourself back awake. The sound must have alerted the Grey Wizard to your sleepy plight because he's at your side then, a small smirk of amusement playing about his lips. "You must be exhausted from your long day," he observes. "You simply must take a rest."

You open your mouth to protest that you absolutely cannot afford any further delay, that the Princess' life hangs in the balance of your speedy return, but when you do, a large yawn escapes instead. "Excuse me," you say, cheeks pinking with embarrassment.

The Wizard takes your yawn to be consent, though, gently taking you by the elbow and helping you to stand, leading you up a flight of wooden stairs to the second floor where you find three beds, all of them comfortable and inviting and you can't help but yawn a second time.

"Maybe just a short nap..." you agree, silently calculating the time in your mind, coming to the conclusion that an hour or two wouldn't hurt that much. You comb your messy windswept locks away from your face and tie them back with a leather thong you wear about your wrist. You shed your cloak and your satchel, setting them both on the floor near the top of the steps.

Your host gestures sweepingly towards the beds, chest puffing out with pride. "Take your pick," he encourages, "A finer bed won't be found in the whole of the Four Kingdoms."

You chuckle to yourself. The Grey Wizard has always had a reputation of enjoying luxury, making his current habitation all the more mysterious.

"I'll wake you in a few hours' time," he assures, interrupting your wandering thoughts.

You approach the first bed, sit gingerly on the edge of it. This bed is truly massive, the likes of which you've never seen, even in Emily's own palatial bedroom. A dark wood sleigh frame with ornate bronze metal work surrounds the softest mattress you've ever felt. It's covered by a thick plush bear skin and you run your fingers through the luscious fur.

You approach the second bed, sitting on this one less tentatively. This bed isn't quite as large as the first, but it's no less luxurious. It's surrounded by an elegant moulded brass frame with inlaid jewels that wouldn't have looked out of place on the diadem of the wealthiest King. This mattress is even softer than the first and you sink into it like a cloud with a little whimper of contentment. The coverlet on this one is two stitched fox pelts, a gorgeous shade of red orange like a sunset on a lake.

You approach the final bed, dropping unceremoniously onto it, barely able to keep your eyes open already. This bed is the smallest of the three, but also the softest, beyond what words could possibly describe. The frame is a combination of wood and brass, carved and moulded into a sculpture most artful. This one is covered by a series of stitched rabbit pelts, warm and soft and oh so luxurious, it feels sinful just to touch them.

The sounds of birds in the trees outside and the crackling fireplace on the floor below have already begun lulling you into a peaceful dreamless trance and you barely have time to decide on a bed before you fall fast asleep.

**If you choose the first bed, go to Green 5.**

**If you choose the second bed, go to Orange 5.**

**If you choose the third bed, go to Green 1.**


	4. Yellow 4

You aren't certain it's wise to accept a Sphinx's challenge, especially after coming so close to death under one's jaws, but you have to believe that it's the best course of action in order to return to Emily both with Freesia in hand and also in one piece...

You came too close to death to ever fully trust another Sphinx, though. "Show me," you demand. "Show me the Freesia – prove to me that you have some before I agree to play your game."

The Sphinx gives a low, throaty laugh at your paranoia. "Is that really your utmost concern?" she simpers. "You should really be more worried about what happens when you lose than when you win..."

"Show me," you insist, refusing to be swayed by her mockery.

With a roll of her eyes and a dramatic sigh, the Sphinx slides a wooden chest across the floor of the cave with a lazy swipe of one paw. The chest skids to a stop at your feet and you drop to your knees, hands trembling slightly as you lift the lid. Inside the chest sits a small jar filled with dried purple petals and your heart leaps.

You reach out to lift the jar, but before you can touch it, the Sphinx clicks her tongue scoldingly, slamming the lid so fast you barely have time to pull your hands out of the way before your fingers are smashed.

"You've seen your precious flowers," she says, annoyance in her tone. "Now, are we going to play or just waste time posturing all day?"

Riddles have never been your strong suit. And you don't entirely trust the Sphinx to keep her word should you win, so you're not all that eager to play a game that gambles with your life and Emily's... As you internally debate the best course of action here, you suddenly remember the jar of catnip in your satchel.

The seer had said that it could be useful under the right circumstances... Perhaps this was what she'd meant. (You can only hope that catnip works on Sphinxes, as you've never actually tested that theory and aren't all that keen to be present should it fail.)

Given that you have little other recourse, you decide to take a chance. "Before we play, I have a gift for you," you say to the Sphinx, pulling out the jar and unscrewing the lid with trembling hands.

The Sphinx looks at you curiously, cocking her head to the side as she stares down at you. You can't quite tell from her expression whether she's pleased to be given a gift or irritated by this stalling tactic, but it's far too late for you to chance course now.

You hold the jar out as far as you can reach without getting within reach of those wicked claws, wafting the scent towards the Sphinx, and wait for her to catch it. You can't help but say a silent prayer to any God that might be listening that you'll live to see the outside of this cave again.

You can see the exact moment the scent hits the Sphinx's nostrils: her ears perk up, her pupils expand, her nose starts twitching. A shiver runs the length of her spine and a pleased little purr bubbles up her throat. "Bring it closer," she demands.

You swallow thickly, all your nerves overactive with adrenalin, as you take several shaky steps forward. You're all too aware that this could very well be a trap to get you within distance of her intimidating jaws.

"Closer!" she demands when you fail to move quickly enough. She pounds one mighty paw against the ground, sending it heaving and roiling and almost causing you to lose your feet. You can't help but let out a cry of surprise as you struggle to maintain your balance.

As you recover, your eyes dart about the cave, sizing up your surroundings and calculating a plan. It's perhaps not the best plan, but it's the only one you have and you don't have the time to come up with another. With only a brief moment's hesitation, you react, throwing the jar in a long arc, so that it shatters at the Sphinx's feet, sending a powerful cloud of catnip billowing in her face.

The scent is enough to momentarily stun the Sphinx and, while she's dazed, you pull the small dagger from your boot and sprint to the Sphinx's side where you plunge it into her heart over and over. Rivulets of blood spurt from her great golden hide and trickle down around your feet, soaking the soles of your boots with crimson.

Realizing what you've done, the Sphinx lets out a great howl of rage and pain. She tries to swipe at you with her paw, but misses from a combination of the catnip effects and pain. You dart just out of her reach and wait for her to die.

A swell of guilt rises inside you as you watch the life leave the Sphinx. She may have been a threat to you, but you hate to see any creature – especially one of magic – die and you say a silent prayer that she'll be treated with mercy when she gets to the other side, wherever that might be.

The Sphinx's cries of pain slowly fade out into kitten-like whimpers and whines until finally, with one last rattling breath, she's gone.

You know that any number of predators lurking in the nearby woods will have already caught the scent of so much blood and will be there shortly to make a feast of the carcass. You don't want to be there when they arrive.

You make it as far as the mouth of the cave before remembering why you'd come in the first place. You turn on your heel and sprint back to the chest, a surge of victory rushing through you as your fingers close around the cool glass of the jar inside.

You feel your heart pound firmly in your chest, having finally accomplished what you'd set out to do, ready to ride for Laurentia, Freesia in hand, and cure the Princess who stole your heart all those years ago. You dare to hope that perhaps the Queen will find it in your heart to give you the Princess' hand (you know it's only wishful thinking, but flush with victory, you allow yourself to dream).

**Go to Purple 1.**


	5. Yellow 5

_You'd met Princess Emily when you were both young children. You were just coming into your magic – but for the most part, you'd simply been a normal, albeit odd child. She'd already had the weight of the Kingdom's – and her mother's – expectations on her shoulders._

_You'd been wandering through the ruins of the old citadel that bordered the rear of the Kingdom, chasing a particularly colourful butterfly, when you'd heard frightened sobbing. You'd followed the sound through the winding paths of broken cobblestones to find a girl your age perched atop a crumbling wall, fat tears trickling down her pale cheeks._

"_What are you doing up there?" you called up to her, hands on your hips, head cocked to the side quizzically. "Doncha know it's dangerous?"_

"_I just wanted to see the view," she said breathlessly between sobs. "I climbed up, but now I can't get back down..."_

_You pressed your lips together in a frown, taking measure of the problem. "You're gonna have to jump..." you informed her with a helpless shrug. "It's not very far."_

"_Jump!?" she repeated in a shriek. "I can't _jump_ – I'll die!"_

"_I'll catch you," you offered without thought that she was as big as you and there was no possible way you could support her weight._

_She narrowed her eyes, surveying you as if trying to decide whether she trusted you. "Promise?" she said eventually._

"_Promise."_

_The next moment, you were on the ground, the girl on top of you. "Oof," you grunted as all the air left your lungs._

_She looked down at you sheepishly as she climbed off of you, dusting herself off. "Sorry..." She extended a hand to help pull you up._

_You opened your mouth to tell her that it was okay, you weren't hurt, when you noticed her knee was bleeding, presumably scraped on her way down._

_When you pointed it out to her, she gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. "My dress!" she wailed, fingering the new tear in the thick brocade fabric, "Mother is going to _kill _me!"_

"_What about your knee?" you asked pointedly._

_She shrugged. "She didn't have to pay for my knee." You couldn't help but giggle at that and after a moment, she joined in the laughter._

"_I have a sewing kit," you offered. "But first..." You dropped to your knees in a nearby patch of weeds, combing through the overgrown greenery until you found what you were searching for, popping it into your mouth and chewing. When you returned, you knelt down beside the girl, spitting the chewed leaves into your hand, then applying the paste to her knee._

"_Ewwww," she wailed, scrunching her nose up cutely. Then, she paused, looked down at her knee, then back to you, feeling the flesh knit back together. "You're a sorceress!" she gasped._

"_Am not!" you retorted. "It's not even that much magic..."_

_Her face softened. "I won't tell anyone," she promised. Little did you know then just how much she was risking to keep your secret. She smiled, one dimple emerging, and offered her hand for you to shake. "I'm Emily, by the way..."_

* * *

Even on horseback, the journey takes most of the remaining day and by the time the road leads you out of the forest, you can see darkness falling on the horizon. From your elevated vantage point, you can see all the Kingdom of Morgana, to the Laurentian Fields surrounding the great spires of the castle from whence you came, illuminated by the occasional flash of light from the Firebird Sanctuary where the Princess loves to spend her rare free time.

You only allow yourself a moment to dwell on looking back, lest you lose your nerve and return empty-handed.

You turn your back to the way you came to focus on the journey still ahead. You've been travelling uphill most of the day and now, having emerged from the treeline, you can see a magnificent palace in the distance. In order to reach it, though, you will have to travel the remaining distance on foot, as the road has become steep and rocky, unmanageable on horseback.

You remove your horse's bridle, leaving her free to graze the small meadow at the edge of the forest, then move to rummage in the saddlebags. The mountain peak the castle sits upon is covered in a layer of thick white snow and, as night falls, the temperature will drop off sharply; your winter cloak won't provide much in the way of protection from the biting wind, but it's better than nothing. You also bring your healing supplies, lest thieves lurk in the woods. You could always break another wild horse, but there were things in your healing kit that were absolutely irreplaceable.

This mountain is contested territory, with both the Morgans and the Doyles claiming ownership, resulting in a decades long feud. For the moment, it's considered a free land and whomever calls the castle home is technically free from any laws.

You suppose that should make you uneasy – and it _does_, in a way – but mostly, you feel freedom: freedom to practice your magic openly, without fear of persecution, should the need arise. Though, you're really hoping that won't be the case. You're already exhausted from the day's travel and aren't sure you have the energy to muster more than a few sparks.

As you turn away, your horse nuzzles your shoulder and you turn with a fond smile, taking her muzzle into your hands, you press a kiss to her forehead. "I won't be gone long," you reassure her, even if she couldn't understand the words. The reassurance is just as much for yourself as it is the horse.

The mare nickers softly as if in protest of your leaving. You reach into your pocket, coming out with a peppermint candy which you offer to the horse. The guard dragon instantly perks up at the scent – it's a little known fact that dragons go absolutely crazy for peppermints, though more than a few will make them lethargic and gassy. With a little laugh, you pull out a second candy, offering it to the dragon, who greedily gulps it down whole.

With a deep fortifying breath, you set off up the mountain, unsure what you'll find when you reach the palace, only praying that whomever it is, they're in possession of the Freesia you seek.

**You can go inside the palace: go to Green 3.**

**You can go back into the forest: go to Purple 1.**


	6. Red 1

The second man has skin mottled with scars of unknown origin covering his face and hands and something about him fills you with fear, though you couldn't have said what or why.

You clear your throat quietly, then reach out to tap him on his shoulder, taking an immediate step back out of reach, just in case you've chosen poorly. "I'm so sorry to disturb you," you effuse as his eyes fly open, "But my guard dragon wandered into your cottage and I didn't want to trespass, but..."

You gesture vaguely at the dragon who snuffles, sneezes, setting a small pile of straw in the corner ablaze with a spark. You wince and snap your fingers once, the blaze instantly hissing and smoking as if a bucket of water were just dumped on it.

"I'm _so _sorry," you start to apologize.

He holds up both hands to stem the tide of words as you prepare to launch into a spiel of apology. When he opens his mouth to speak, his voice comes out in a raspy whisper, like dry leaves blowing across paving stone. "You've finally come," he whispers, "The chosen one, come to seek the Grail."

"No," you reply, brow furrowing with confusion, "I'm looking for Freesia flowers – I need them to cure the Princess. Please, do you have any?"

"Ask the question," the man says, "Ask the question and set me free."

"I..." you stammer, pause. "I don't know what you mean." You offer an apologetic smile. "Please, the Freesia..." you start again.

"Ask the question!" he repeats, louder, more urgent. "Ask it and I'll be healed!"

"I _am_ a healer," you say gently, slowly backing towards the door. You glance at the other two men, chewing your lip anxiously, fear that you've made the wrong decision settling in the pit of your stomach like a stone. "But magic doesn't work like that – there are no magic words, no simple incantations that can heal your wounds. Especially if they're magical in origin. I don't know how to set you free, I'm sorry."

"As am I," the man says, almost sadly. "It has to be this way. The Gods will forgive me."

Fear courses through your body and politeness be damned, you turn on your heel and run for the door. When you go to lift the latch, though, you find it locked and you hiss a curse under your breath. You incant a simple unlocking spell and try again, but still it remains steadfastly shut. You rattle the handle in frustration, muttering any spell you can think of that might overpower whatever magic is at work on the door.

Behind you, the man holds out one hand, murmurs a few words, and a fireball grows in his palm, larger and larger, out of his control until it bursts forth, swallowing the entire cottage, you included, in a fiery blaze.

The last thought you have is one of immense searing pain as the fire grabs hold of your flesh, followed by regret that no one will be able to save the Princess in time.


	7. Red 2

_When you were both twelve years old, Emily declared that she'd love you forever. You'd been friends for six years by then – an eternity to a child – and you knew that even if you lived a hundred more, Emily would forever be your first and only love._

_The two of you lay side by side on her bed on top of the ornately beaded coverlet, watching as you made sparks dance in a fireworks shower overhead, orchestrating their movements with a lazy wave of your hand. She giggled as the sparks came together to form a butterfly that alighted on the tip of her nose; the tingling effect made her sneeze, sending the sparks scattering everywhere, causing her to laugh harder._

_You turned your head on the pillow to watch her laugh, a soft smile forming on your lips._

_Sensing you watching her, she turned her head to meet your gaze, her own smile mirroring yours. After a moment, something in her expression changed, softened, her eyes taking on an unfamiliar, but not unpleasant glint._

"_What?" you asked, barely louder than a whisper. Your concentration broken, the sparks rained down around the two of you like colourful snow. "Did I set my hair on fire again?" (It wouldn't have been the first time an errant spark had started you ablaze.)_

_She giggled again, but shook her head, fond smile still in place. "I love you," she whispered, unplanned and unintentional, and you weren't entirely sure she was even aware the words had slipped out._

_For a few moments, you stared back at her, mouth hanging open slightly. She'd never put voice to her feelings and neither had you, assuming it was just the unspoken agreement you'd separately arrived at._

"_I think I always have," she continued, apparently unable to stop the words now that they'd begun. "I think I always will."_

"_Emily..." you breathed. But you didn't have any words, so you leaned in to close the distance between you, capturing her lips in the first kiss either of you had ever had – soft and sweet and tender, everything a first kiss should be._

_At that moment, the door burst open to admit the Queen who stopped short upon the threshold as she caught sight of the two of you entwined in each other's arms. "Emmeline Elizabeth Prentiss," the Queen scolded, looking as if she might faint._

_The two of you pulled apart sharply, Emily's eyes wide and frightened, your own heart hammering somewhere in your throat. She elbowed you in the ribs, nodding toward your fingers which were still glowing and you hurried to hide them behind your back._

"_How dare_ _you!?" the Queen hissed, "How _dare _you impugn to sully my daughter's honour?"_

_You opened and closed your mouth a few times, unable to form a coherent thought. You felt the threat of tears behind your eyes, but vowed that if it was the last thing you did, you would _not _cry in front of the Queen._

_Without waiting for your explanation, she whirled on her daughter. "And _you_, Emmeline... Laying with a woman – a commoner...and a _sorceress_, no less. I should have locked you in the tower years ago."_

"_Please, Your Majesty," you begged, without thought as to whether it was wise to speak unbidden. "It wasn't Emily's fault, I..."_

_The Queen had no patience for your pleas. "GUARDS!" she shouted into the hall. Two armoured knights clanked into the room. "Take this urchin from my sight."_

"_Mother, no!" Emily begged._

"_And see that she never sets another foot inside this castle. She's never to see my daughter again, on penalty of death."_

_The last thing you saw as you were dragged from the room was Emily falling to her knees before her mother, begging to be permitted to see you just one last time._

* * *

The road leads you downhill through ever darkening forest for several hours until you can't see the sun and you're no longer certain what time it is, but for the growing rumble in your stomach announcing that it's been hours since you've last eaten.

The road ahead suddenly exits the forest, bright sunlight hitting your eyes, nearly blinding you, and you spend a moment basking in the warmth after the cool dark of the forest. Once your eyes adjust to the brightness, you realize that the road ends sharply at the rocky cliff that sits at the very edge of the Kingdoms.

At the base of the cliff is a cave, low and dark and emitting a strange odour you can't quite place. Something about it feels ominous and wrong. You shudder in spite of yourself. A little voice at the back of your mind urges you not to go inside.

You'd very much like to listen to your own good sense, but your heart trumps reason at this moment and you know you're going to go inside whether it's a good idea or not.

You tie your horse's reins to a low-hanging branch of a stray tree near the mouth of the cave; you have no intention of making a meal of your horse for whatever lurks inside. The mare's instincts are running on high alert and she whinnies with urgency as if begging you not to go inside. You stroke the horse's neck, whispering soothing words in a long dead language, wishing there were an easier way.

Just as you've mustered all your courage to enter the cave, a voice booms out, "Who dares disturb my rest?"

You open your mouth to respond, but can't make any sound come out.

"Do not come any closer if you value your life," the echoing voice warns.

Perhaps, in this case, you think, it would be wisest to heed the warnings and your good sense.

But as you hook your foot in the stirrup, ready to climb back on your horse and return the way you came, you feel a few errant rain drops spatter on your head. You tilt your head back to see heavy dark clouds have filled the sky. With a great cracking of thunder, lightening splits the sky, and you know you're in for a monstrous storm. You can feel it in your bones.

You shiver as the wind picks up and rain starts falling in sheets. You know there's no outrunning this storm, the only safe haven the foreboding and forbidden cave.

You only hope whatever lurks inside is the lesser of two evils...

**You can dash towards the forest and hope not to be struck by lightening: go to Purple 1.**

**You can seek shelter inside the cave: go to Green 2.**


	8. Red 3

You tuck into the fettuccine with gusto, letting out a little moan of pleasure as the taste hits your tongue. This pasta is the best thing you've ever eaten. The pasta is cooked perfectly al dente, the thick white sauce seasoned flavourfully, and the Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top is rich and salty. You can't help but think the Grey Wizard missed his calling as chef...

A chef of his calibre would have regents fighting over him – anything he asked for, he could have had. The fact that he's instead chosen a life of solitude and exile – the life of a magician – is baffling to you and you might've asked him why if you didn't fear doing so would be considered ill manners.

Of course, the thought is only in your head for a very short while before it's pushed right out of your mind by the more pressing matter of your growling stomach.

You scarf back the bowl like you haven't eaten in weeks, pausing only briefly to hope you aren't being rude to your gracious host who has busied himself digging through jars and boxes and assorted miscellany in what you hope is a search for Freesia.

He digs among his possessions like a badger digging a hole, sending items flying across the cabin with clinks and clatters and the occasional bang of something magical exploding into a shower of sparks. Your guard dragon is watching him with interest, slowly creeping ever closer to him until something explodes, sending him skittering away to the safety of the furthest corner.

As you swallow the last few bites of your meal, you start to feel drowsy, but you brush the feeling aside as the effects of a big meal and the fact that you'd started your journey quite early in the morning, so it's only natural that you'd be a little sleepy.

You reach for the nearby glass of water, downing the whole thing quickly, washing away the remaining sting of spices on your tongue. You can feel the cool liquid trickling down your throat and you suddenly realize that you'd been parched, not having stopped your journey long enough to drink from your waterskin. (Emily always said that when others were in need, you neglected yourself to the point of your own ruination...)

Thirst satiated, your head slowly starts to loll forward before snapping back to consciousness scant seconds later. You repeat the process again and again, gradually staying asleep longer and longer until you no longer wake up...

* * *

You blink back into consciousness with all the sudden sharpness of falling off a horse – asleep one moment, wide awake the very next. You hadn't even realized you'd fallen asleep... You realize then that the pasta must have been enchanted. You shake your head, roll your eyes. The Grey Wizard had always been rumoured to be a trickster and apparently, those rumours at least, were very true.

At least, you hope this is only a playful prank and not a roundabout death sentence...

Your heartbeat ratchets up at the thought, but you take slow deep breaths to calm yourself, knowing that a cool collected head is the best way to ensure your safety in whatever situation you've found yourself.

You proceed to take stock of your surroundings.

Your chair has landed just on the edge of a copse of trees and you can see a magnificent palace in the distance. The palace is made of a gorgeous pink tinged marble that seems to glitter with reflected sunlight as it sinks ever lower on the horizon. It doesn't escape you that, while beautiful, it means that you're steadily losing time to return to the palace with the cure.

In order to reach the palace, though, you will have to travel the remaining distance on foot, as the road is steep and rocky, unmanageable on horseback. Thankfully, the Grey Wizard has at least had the foresight to send your horse with you, in spite of the fact that you've somehow been transported a great distance very quickly and you hope to one day cross paths with the Grey Wizard again and query as to how he accomplished such a feat. (And also, _why_...)

You remove your horse's bridle, leaving her free to graze the small meadow at the edge of the forest, then move to rummage in the saddlebags. The mountain peak the castle sits upon is covered in a layer of thick white snow and, as night falls, the temperature will drop off sharply; your winter cloak won't provide much in the way of protection from the biting wind, but it's better than nothing. You also bring your healing supplies, lest thieves lurk in the woods. You could always break another wild horse, but there were things in your healing kit that were absolutely irreplaceable.

This mountain is contested territory, with both the Morgans and the Doyles claiming ownership, resulting in a decades long feud. For the moment, it's considered a free land and whomever calls the castle home is technically free from any laws.

You suppose that should make you uneasy – and it _does_, in a way – but mostly, you feel freedom: freedom to practice your magic openly, without fear of persecution, should the need arise. Though, you're really hoping that won't be the case. You're already exhausted from the day's travel and aren't sure you have the energy to muster more than a few sparks; in spite of the fact that you have obviously slept, at least a short while, you feel drained and depleted. You make a mental note that, upon your return home, you'd best take a break from your work for a short while...you can't remember the last time you'd done such a thing. (It's no wonder Emily scolds you so often about taking as much care of yourself as you do others...)

With a deep fortifying breath, you set off up the mountain, unsure what you'll find when you reach the palace, only praying that whomever it is, they're in possession of the Freesia you seek.

**Go to Green 3 to enter the palace.**


	9. Red 4

The first man has wild dark hair and a wild bushy beard and wild dark eyes set behind a pair of spectacles. Something about him makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, though you couldn't have said what exactly it was.

You clear your throat quietly, then reach out to tap him on his shoulder, taking an immediate step back out of reach, just in case you've chosen poorly. He makes no immediate move to lash out at you, simply cocking his head and staring at you, blinking slowly, sleepily.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," you effuse as his eyes blink open, "But my guard dragon wandered into your cottage and I didn't want to trespass, but..."

You gesture vaguely at the dragon who snuffles, sneezes, setting a small pile of straw in the corner ablaze with a spark. You wince, snapping your fingers once and the blaze instantly hisses and smokes as if a bucket of water were just dumped on it.

"I'm _so _sorry," you start to apologize.

The man continues staring at you in that slightly unsettling way, saying nothing.

You glance at the other two men, chewing your lip anxiously, fear that you've made the wrong decision settling in the pit of your stomach like a stone. "I'm looking for Freesia flowers," you speak up at length, "I need them to cure the Princess. Please, do you have any? It's of grave importance..."

Still, the man says nothing.

"If you could please look," you urge, "It's most urgent that I return. You see, the Great Pox..."

"I'm not very smart," he finally drawls, voice like treacle, slow and thick.

"I'm sure that's not..." you start to refute politely.

He continues on as if you hadn't spoken, "But I have a smart friend. He wants me to tell you something..."

"Al-alright," you reply, voice shaking in spite of yourself.

"Your timepiece has stopped..."

An icy frisson of fear races down your spine and you reach into your pocket to pull out your pocket watch to find that it has indeed stopped. It runs on magic, so it should never stop working, unless you're dead. How he could have possibly known that, you have no idea – he couldn't have seen its face, hidden as it was in the folds of your tunic and he doesn't have the milky white eyes that indicate a seer...

The heaviness in your stomach deepens, but you don't want to let the man see that he's managed to rattle you. You shrug, force a laugh. "Must mean it's a knock-off. You never know when you buy from a travelling merchant."

He smiles a most unsettling smile, as if he's seen clear through your lies. "I feel so alone," he wails, "I feel as if the Gods have forsaken me..."

For a moment, your mouth hangs open, unsure what to say, how to react to his forlorn cries. "The Gods are in all of us," you eventually reply, offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.

"And so shall you be..."


	10. Red 5

You can't be certain whether you trust the seer or not, whether there's malice hidden in the murky white depths of her eyes. You wish you could believe in her goodness – in _everyone's _goodness – outright, but that simply isn't the world you live in.

She must sense your hesitation because she smiles, almost sadly. "I wish neither you nor the Princess any harm," she says softly. "I have seen her good heart, her gentle spirit; the Princess has the power to usher in an era of great peace for those with magic and without. Should she survive..."

You open your mouth to ask why, then, she cannot simply _give _you the remedy.

"Because that is not the way," she answers your unasked question. "It is not up to me. You must make the choice yourself. I cannot interfere with the freewill of those who seek me out."

You consider debating whether this truly falls under the realm of freewill – afterall, she is of magic and those of supernatural abilities are often fond of loopholes and contests of wit – but ultimately decide against it, as you've tangled with too many Fae to think that outsmarting someone is always the quicker route.

After a moment's debate, you tap the box of your choosing, the wooden chest making a satisfying hollow thunking sound. The seer nods knowingly, your choice long since having been laid bare to her. If you're not mistaken, you think you see a look of sadness cross her face for the briefest of moments before it's blank again.

Fear rises in your stomach, knowing you've chosen wrong.

She opens the box to reveal a jar of dark brown liquid. She passes the jar to you and you find it warm to the touch, almost enough to burn your hands if you touch it for too long. Wrapping your hand in your skirt to keep from scalding yourself, you twist off the lid and bring the jar to your nose, inhaling deeply of its scent.

You look up to the seer with question in your eyes. "Coffee?" you ask. The drink is extremely rare in the Kingdoms – the beans only grow in the most temperate regions of the Kingdom of Alveza, requiring great risk to both harvest and export them. Only the richest regents ever bothered to import it and even then, they rarely drank it, simply keeping the beans to offer to guests as a show of their wealth and power.

The seer smiles mysteriously. "Do not despair. You may yet find it useful on your quest."

You're not certain you believe her, but it would be folly to slight someone so powerful. You murmur a thank you to the floor as you curtsey low as a show of respect.

"Follow the twisting road down the mountain," the seer instructs.

It's not the way you came, but perhaps she's seen danger awaiting, so you decide it best to heed her advice. You slip the jar of coffee into your bag, taking care to wrap it in a handkerchief lest it break and leave you empty-handed.

You thank the seer yet again, vow that you'll never forget the kindness she's shown both you and Emily. That seems to mollify her and she nods once in acceptance of your thanks.

The lynx laying curled up at her feet stands and stretches, yawns. He blinks at you a few times curiously – you imagine they don't see all that many strangers this far from civilization – then sniffs at the hem of your skirt. He must decide you friendly because he seems to feel no compunction against turning his back on you to lead you back down the spiralling stairs and towards the great doors you'd entered through.

By the time you make it back to your horse, darkness has all but fallen in its entirety. Much as you might like to continue on, the forest is far too impenetrable for you to traverse safely in the dark.

You pitch a small lean-to using one of the trees on the forest's edge with just enough space for you to stay dry overnight. It's not much, but you've slept in worse conditions. Perhaps you should have asked the seer for shelter for the night, but there was just something entirely too unsettling about her for you to feel comfortable staying there a single second longer than necessary. (You get the distinct feeling that even now, she's watching you.)

You make a small meal out of the supplies the Queen gave you – half a loaf of bread, some cheese, and an apple – careful to portion them out so that they will last you the remainder of the journey. You share the apple with your horse, who whinnies thankfully at the sweet treat. You offer some to the dragon as well, but after sniffing at it, he turns up his nose at the fruit.

You take the jar of coffee from your bag and consider it. The seer had said that would be of use to you, though you can't imagine how. Perhaps she'd meant for you to drink so that you might continue on overnight without the need for sleep. Though, you don't particularly enjoy the taste...

For Emily's tenth name day, the Queen had commissioned an elaborate coffee cake for the celebration – something that was unheard of, given the rarity of coffee and the number of guests in attendance. But the Queen was known for sparing no expense when it came to her daughter's parties, especially as she approached a marriageable age.

The two of you had snuck bites of the cake before the unveiling – neither of you had enjoyed the taste, but the endeavour was more about whether you would get away with it unscathed. (The answer had been no, as the chef had caught you and rapped the back of your knuckles with a wooden spoon when you'd taken the blame so Emily could escape unseen.)

The taste of coffee will always be connected to the memory of that party...and the burn of pain in your knuckles, so you decide to save the liquid for a truly dire situation.

Though, what could be more dire than Emily laying stricken with the deadliest disease in the Kingdoms is something you hope to never face.

**Go to Orange 2.**


	11. Blue 1

As your horse gallops along the cobblestone bridge approaching the palace, hooves clicking a furious beat against stone, there comes a great shouting from the castle walls as the guards notice your approach. The drawbridge across the moat is lowered before you even have to slow your horse.

As you dismount, the great gilded wooden door you'd arrived at that morning is thrown open and the Queen herself comes down the steps to meet you, the hem of her blood red gown billowing about her feet.

"You've finally returned," she says, almost eagerly (if she hadn't thought showing emotion a display of weakness).

You dip into a slight curtsey that isn't entirely up to standard for the presence of royalty, but you think you can be forgiven in the face of such urgency. "Have the pock marks started to show yet?" you ask as you rise.

The Queen shakes her head. "Not yet, but I fear it cannot be long before they do."

You nod once. "Show me to her?" you request (as if you don't already know the way).

* * *

As you push open the door to the Princess' chambers, you can't help but feel your heart beating vociferously in your throat as if it might leap out your mouth at any moment. You have the distinct feeling that you're seconds away from seeing your very worst fears realized...

Fortunately, though, the Princess' condition appears much the same as it had been when you'd left, just as the Queen had said. You quickly examine her lifeless form and, much to your relief, you can find no pox.

You squeeze Emily's hand gently, thanking whatever God that has listened to your prayers that she hasn't gotten worse.

The moment is interrupted, though, but the Queen's impatient demand of, "_Well_?"

You glance up at her, brow raised in confusion as if only remembering you weren't the only two in the room.

The Queen scoffs. "Can you cure her?" she snaps. "Did you find the remedy you set out for?"

You open your mouth to reply, then falter. You don't know how to tell her that you've failed, that you were unable to find the Freesia you'd set out for, and that because of that the Princess may very well die. You let out a shaky breath, then another as the Queen continues to stare at you expectantly, brow arching ever higher as you continue to remain silent.

Tears spring to your eyes and you struggle to blink them away lest they give away your failure. Your mind wanders to all the promises you'd made to the Princess that you'll never get the chance to keep because you simply weren't _good enough_...

Just as you're about to confess everything, a memory niggles at the back of your mind. A memory of a promise made long ago. You gasp sharply with the force of it hitting you square in the chest with the knowledge that you _haven't _failed afterall...

"I need to dig up your rose beds," you blurt out.

For a moment, the Queen blinks at you, stunned. "I beg your pardon?" she says.

"There's something buried in the rose beds that is necessary to cure the Princess," you repeat. Silently, you pray that your treasure is still hidden there after all these years.

Without waiting for the Queen's permission, Prince Derek takes off from where he'd been watching on the periphery of the room to bring you the requested item. He'd never much cared for the Queen's opinion...or her rose beds.

When he returns, he hands you the box, still encrusted with soil. You dust some of the dirt away to reveal the latch which you carefully lift, hardly even breathing now. Inside, just as you'd left it, sits the Faerie Stone.

You carefully lift the stone into your palm and you say a silent prayer that this is what the Faerie Queen had intended it to be used for... With tender fingers, you tip open the Princess' jaw and slip the Stone past her lips.

For what feels like eons, there is no sound, no movement from the Princess as everyone waits with bated breath to see if your remedy will succeed in curing her. You know that if you do not, your head will likely be on a pike before day's end...

You chance a look at the Queen, finding her face grave as she stares down at her daughter's lifeless form. She's barely even breathing and, for a brief moment, in spite of all that she's done to you, you can't help but pity her. However difficult it would be for you to lose Emily, certainly it would be worse for the Queen to lose her only daughter, the last living relative she has.

You open your mouth as if to give some words of comfort to her, when there's a small sound startling you. You glance back to the Princess and find that some colour has returned to her pallid cheeks.

"Emily?" you breathe, forgetting in that moment propriety and manners and everything that you've used to mask the familiar nature of your relationship.

Her eyes slowly start to flutter before opening completely, her lips parting on a gasp for air. She seems confused and overwhelmed and you can't exactly blame her – waking to find nearly a baker's dozen concerned faces staring down at you would be rather upsetting.

You smile tenderly down at her, gently stroking her hair away from her face, but can't quite form any words. You don't have the chance, though, before the Queen is pushing you out of the way.

"M-mother?" Emily stammers.

"You're alright, Dear," the Queen tells her. "You're okay."

"What happened?" Emily rasps, looking about the room until she catches your gaze. You offer a soft smile that she returns almost shyly.

"You nearly succumbed to the Great Pox," the Queen informs her, attempts a smile.

"But..." Emily says slowly, concern crossing her face, "The only way to cure the Pox is the Freesia flower which can only be found in the Dark Forest..."

"This Sorceress went in search of some," the Queen tells her. "She cured you." You can't help but think those are the nicest words the Queen has ever spoken about you.

Emily's gaze flies back to yours, her brows leaping up her forehead in surprise and fear. "I need a moment alone with her," Emily commands.

The Queen seems reluctant to leave the two of you alone, given your history, but she eventually nods once in consent.

Once the door to her chambers groan shut, you fly into Emily's arms, holding her as tightly as you dare. She clings to you even tighter. You blink back relieved tears as you stroke her hair, hardly daring to believe this moment is real. When you pull back from the embrace, you can't find any words, just shaking your head slowly, smile on your lips.

"Did you really travel to the Dark Forest?" she breathes.

You laugh softly. "It's a long story... I'll tell you when you're feeling better," you promise, then lean in to press a tender kiss to her lips.


	12. Blue 2

Flush with victory, you spur your horse to run faster and faster through the forest in a race against the oncoming darkness and the ever looming threat of Emily succumbing to the illness. Though in most cases, the illness takes three days to run its course and kill its victim, it's not unheard of for it to act faster and all you can do is pray that Emily won't be one of those cases.

In spite of your great haste, the hour is late by the time you find yourself back at the Gideon Tree, out of breath and running out of time.

As this forest – aged and rife with magic as it is – has a tendency to do, the paths have become tangled and confused in your absence and you can no longer be certain as to which is the correct way back to the palace. It seems nothing about your quest is destined to be simple...

The tree is awake this time, blinking curiously at you as your dismount your horse. "Why, if it isn't...you," he says, obviously blanking on your name. "Come to commune with the wisdom of the Parliament?" he asks.

His question is punctuated by a series of great echoing hoots as if in greeting. You look up to see seven owls of varying species congregated among the branches of the Gideon Tree. Among many inhabitants of the Four Kingdoms, the Parliament was thought of as being the embodiment of the Gods – though there were those who thought them simply a rumour, many swore that they'd been visited by an owl at the time of their greatest need.

You hadn't yet encountered the Parliament, though you'd always been certain they existed, but if there was ever a time of greatest need in your life, you supposed this must be it.

Before you have a chance to answer the tree's question, the Barn Owl spread its massive wings, flapping powerfully a few times and you could swear you felt the wind pick up around you. You shiver in spite of yourself.

The owl opens its mouth as if to speak, then gags a few times, depositing a pellet squarely at your feet. You look at it for a few moments, then back up, meeting the owl's eyes. It seems to nod in confirmation that this is a gift meant for you.

The Gideon Tree hums a noise of interest. "The Parliament has taken a special interest in you," he declares. "Rare is the human they give such a gift to."

"I'm honoured," you say, curtseying low to the owls still surveying you almost curiously as if to see what you'll do with the gift. You don't know how you know it, but somehow there is an inherent knowledge that the pellet contains wisdom you are to divine.

Kneeling on the forest floor, you reach into your bag and pull out a small candle so that you might see better in the waning light of dusk. By the flickering candlelight, you lay the pellet on a small cloth and proceed to carefully break it in half, plucking the tiny bones from within.

As best you can tell – as divination has never been your magical strong suit – the bones are a grave warning...

You reassemble half a mouse skeleton and half a crow skeleton – the mouse portending bad luck, the crow good. The outcome of your quest still hangs in the balance, the scale easily tipped to either success or failure.

The smattering of mouse teeth is an obvious sign that someone's health is in crisis and the fact that there are no less than four skulls – mouse, crow, frog, and turtle – speaks to the grave danger that Emily is in. You feel fear rise up your throat like bile, the Parliament seeming to foretell your failure.

You can't seem to give up hope though, refusing to believe that the Parliament chose you for this blessing simply to tell you that you have failed. With great care, you hold the turtle skull over the flame of your candle, heating it until it cracks. You watch the fractures spread and form an intricate design – a poppy flower encircled by a crown. You purse your lips, musing on that, confused by the conflicting messages you seem to be getting, but fearful of offending the Parliament by questioning their gift.

Exhaustion is starting to wash over you and all you really want is to return home and see Emily again. Perhaps the messages will be clearer in the morning and you're about to wrap them in the cloth and pack them away when a ladybug crawls from the discarded mass of fur that formed the outside of the pellet. A feeling of calmness flows through you and you fight a small smile, suddenly certain that everything is going to be okay.

You dust off your knees as you stand, finding that the tree has nodded off while you worked. You huff a little breath of irritation. You knock sharply on his trunk, briefly feeling guilty over waking him up, but the guilt is quickly pushed aside by concern for the Princess and the knowledge that your time to administer the remedy is quickly running out.

"Are you lost?" he asks, apparently unaware you'd spoken only minutes ago. "It's very late, you know..."

"I'm well aware of the late hour," you insist, "But the matter is most urgent, I assure you. The Laurentian Princess has fallen victim of the Great Pox and I must return with haste to apply the remedy. That's of a far greater concern to me than social niceties and your beauty sleep."

"That's the second time today someone's told me that today..." he says, talking in circles and riddles.

"I know," you reply, struggling not to roll your eyes, "That was me."

"Right," he says as if he knew that, "Well. Of course it was." He watches you place the remains of the pellet into your bag, next to the hard-won jar of Freesia. "I see you have a jar of Freesia," he notes, "Now, who was it that was asking after those? I can't seem to remember... I swear it was only a short while ago."

"That was me," you say again. "I managed to obtain some." _'No thanks to you,' _you think, but don't say. "Now I must return to Laurentia..."

He nods sagely, as if he'd known you would succeed. "You must follow one of those roads ahead," he says. "Sorry, though, I'm afraid I can't remember which road."

**If you want to follow the road to the right, go to Orange 1.**

**If you want to follow the road to the left, go to Purple 5.**


	13. Blue 3

You aren't certain it's wise to accept a Sphinx's challenge, especially after coming so close to death under one's jaws, but you have to believe that it's the best course of action in order to return to Emily both with Freesia in hand and also in one piece... You refuse to give into the fear that sits just under the surface of your all too calm facade.

"I accept your challenge," you announce. Ordinarily, you'd curtsey out of politeness, but you think it unwise to expose your neck to this beast.

The Sphinx gives a pleased growl low in her throat, slowly licks her lips in a display of predatory delight. "Excellent," she purrs. "Should you win, I have a gift for you. If you fail, you'll never see the light of day again."

You nod slowly (and a little shakily), agreeing to the terms, a part of you already wondering if you haven't made the wrong decision.

The Sphinx watches you for a few moments with glowing green eyes, tail swishing slowly back and forth like a cat watching prey. You know she knows you're frightened, but you maintain eye contact anyway, refusing to back down to her display of power.

"You may ask first," she decrees.

You let out a shuddering breath, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in thought. "What goes with a carriage, comes with a carriage, is of no use to a carriage and yet the carriage cannot go without it?" you ask.

The Sphinx unsheathes her claws, examining them with disinterest as she lazily answers, "Noise." She yawns as if the game bores her. "I sizzle like bacon, I'm made with an egg. I have plenty of backbone, but not a good leg. I peel layers like an onion, but still remain whole. I can be long like a flagpole, yet fit in a hole."

You think on that for a moment before the answer comes to you. "Oh! A snake."

The Sphinx purses her lips, irritated, but bows her head in concession. "Ask again."

"It dances, it skips, it's read in the eyes, but it cheats with the hips. If it meets its match, it's easily caught, but it's worth nothing if it is bought," you rhyme.

This one seems to take the Sphinx longer, but she eventually answers, "The heart." Then, she clarifies, "The _human _heart, to be quite accurate." She doesn't wait but a moment before moving into the next riddle, "What binds two people, yet only touches one?"

You know the answer to this one immediately, feeling the cool surface of Emily's ring hanging on its chain between your breasts. You touch your fingers to the ring as a reminder of what you're risking your life for, knowing you'd risk it again and again and again for her. "A wedding ring."

"I let you have that one," the Sphinx says haughtily, as if she's being kind by allowing you to play this game of life and death. You suppose she is, given how easily she could have killed you should the whim have overcome her.

You don't bother responding to that, knowing your barbed tongue will only get you in trouble. Instead, you ask, "There are four siblings in the world, all born together. The first runs and never wearies. The second eats and is never full. The third drinks and is always thirsty. The fourth sings a song forever."

This one she has less trouble with, answering readily, "Water, fire, earth, and wind."

You frown, having thought you'd surely trip her up with that one, but you say nothing yet again.

"I'm as a child, a lamb, and a simpleton at once. All are born with me, yet few possess me at their moment of death," she riddles.

"Innocence?" you reply, uncertain, but unwilling to show it.

The Sphinx growls low in her throat, displeasure growing as you continue to match her wits.

You're all too aware of her display of power, sheathing and unsheathing her claws, tail swishing and flicking as she sizes you up like a meal. If Sphinxes weren't creatures bound by their word, you'd be concerned that you were about to be dinner, win or lose...

Trying to act unphased, you ask your next riddle, "When one does not know what it is, then it is something. When one know what it is, then it is nothing."

For a long moment, the Sphinx is silent as she thinks. You watch as her eyes go wide, pupils flicking back and forth in desperate thought and finding no answer. She shakes her head, slowly at first, then faster, more desperate. "No..." she whispers. "No, no, no..." Then, she lets out a great howl of rage, "_NO_!"

You press your lips firmly together, trying to maintain a humble expression, knowing you've won, but not wanting to rub it in. "The answer is: a riddle."

Speaking through gritted teeth, the Sphinx replies, "Very well. You've bested me. I promised you a reward and you shall have it."

You feel your heart pound firmly in your chest, certain that you've finally accomplished what you'd set out to do, ready to ride for Laurentia, Freesia in hand, and cure the Princess who stole your heart all those years ago. You dare to hope that perhaps the Queen will find it in your heart to give you the Princess' hand (you know it's only wishful thinking, but flush with victory, you allow yourself to dream).

With one paw, the Sphinx slides a wooden chest across the floor of the cave, skidding to a stop at your feet. You drop to your knees, hands trembling slightly as you lift the lid. Inside the chest sits a small jar, but you're unable to make out its contents in the low light.

Then, the scent hits you and you feel your heart drop out of your body. "Coffee?" you ask, trying not to sound ungrateful, but feeling cheated all the same.

The Sphinx grins all too widely. She starts to laugh, the sound rumbling up from deep in her chest, emerging to echo around the cave, louder and louder until it's nearly deafening. You cram the jar into your satchel with haste, clapping your hands to your ears and turning on your heel, running to safety, knowing the sound of her laughter will haunt your dreams for years to come.

**You emerge from the cave and ride with haste to Orange 2.**


	14. Blue 4

As your horse gallops along the cobblestone bridge approaching the palace, hooves clicking a furious beat against stone, there comes a great shouting from the castle walls as the guards notice your approach. The drawbridge across the moat is lowered before you even have to slow your horse.

As you dismount, the great gilded wooden door you'd arrived at that morning is thrown open and the Queen herself comes down the steps to meet you, the hem of her blood red gown billowing about her feet.

"You've finally returned," she says, almost eagerly (if she hadn't thought showing emotion a display of weakness).

You dip into a slight curtsey that isn't entirely up to standard for the presence of royalty, but you think you can be forgiven in the face of such urgency. "Have the pock marks started to show yet?" you ask as you rise.

The Queen shakes her head. "Not yet, but I fear it cannot be long before they do."

You nod once. "Show me to her?" you request (as if you don't already know the way).

* * *

As you push open the door to the Princess' chambers, you can't help but feel your heart beating vociferously in your throat as if it might leap out your mouth at any moment. You have the distinct feeling that you're seconds away from seeing your very worst fears realized...

Fortunately, though, the Princess' condition appears much the same as it had been when you'd left, just as the Queen had said. You quickly examine her lifeless form and, much to your relief, you can find no pox.

You squeeze Emily's hand gently, thanking whatever God that has listened to your prayers that she hasn't gotten worse. With your thumb, you tenderly stroke the back of her hand and you can almost – _almost –_ believe she's only sleeping.

The moment is interrupted, though, but the Queen's impatient demand of, "_Well_?"

You glance up at her, brow raised in confusion as if only remembering you weren't the only two in the room.

The Queen scoffs. "Can you cure her?" she snaps. "Did you find the remedy you set out for?"

You reach into your satchel and produce the hard won glass jar, holding it up so that the light catches it, seeming to illuminate the delicate purple petals from within. For a moment, even the Queen seems awed that you've managed to find some.

Without waiting for further prompting, you set about brewing the Freesia into a curative brew. Even as skilled as you are in the healing arts, it's a difficult potion to brew and even the slightest error can turn it into a useless sludge. You try not to let everyone see how anxious you are as you set to your work, fearful that your questing will all have been for nought. Finally, you have a thick bubbling violet liquid that smells distinctly floral, but you happen to know tastes like goblin piss... You carefully ladle it into a waiting goblet.

Your hands are shaking as you cross the room to the Princess' bedside and you very nearly spill the potion in your anxiety. Finally, you settle on the edge of the bed beside her and with tender fingers, tip open her mouth so that you can pour the potion past her lips.

For what feels like eons, there is no sound, no movement from the Princess as everyone waits with bated breath to see if your remedy will succeed in curing her. You know that if you do not, your head will likely be on a pike before day's end...

You chance a look at the Queen, finding her face grave as she stares down at her daughter's lifeless form. She's barely even breathing and, for a brief moment, in spite of all that she's done to you, you can't help but pity her. However difficult it would be for you to lose Emily, certainly it would be worse for the Queen to lose her only daughter, the last living relative she has.

You open your mouth as if to give some words of comfort to her, when there's a small sound startling you. You glance back to the Princess and find that some colour has returned to her pallid cheeks.

"Emily?" you breathe, forgetting in that moment propriety and manners and everything that you've used to mask the familiar nature of your relationship.

You feel certain it must be a trick of the fading sunlight, of the flickering candlelight, but her skin seems almost _green_... Your brow furrows in confusion and you rest the back of your hand against her forehead, finding her skin cool and clammy.

"What's taking so long?" the Queen demands.

"I don't know..." you whisper. This has never happened in all your years as a healer. And, though you've only brewed this particular remedy a handful of times, it always works with near immediacy. If it were going to cure the Princess, it would have done so by now...

You start to doubt your diagnosis. Though it shouldn't cause harm, if you were wrong in your assessment, it certainly would fail to produce results.

You're mentally running through a list of alternative diagnoses when a thought occurs to you. What if you'd been given something that simulated the appearance of Freesia, but was in fact, something different?

That would mean...

Your breath freezes in your lungs and you lunge towards your satchel...a moment too late. For in the next second there comes a great crackling sound of magic surging through the air, the distinctive scent of something burning, and finally, a loud pop.

There in the Princess' great four poster bed, nestled among the bed covers, sits a great green frog.

The Queen lets out a shriek and, immediately faints, the nearest guard catching her with barely enough time to prevent her from hitting the floor.

She's only unconscious for a moment before she's once again awake, shouting, "GUARDS! Seize her! Guards!"

The guards lunge towards you and you dart out of their grasp with a cry of, "Wait! Please, I can fix this..."


	15. Blue 5

You bypass the Kingdom of Morgana. Much as you might like to stop and visit with the widow Queen Frances and her three children: Princess Sarah, Princess Desiree, and Prince Derek, time is of the essence if you have any chance of saving Princess Emily.

Instead, you follow the Merchant Road through the citadel, into the ancient forest that grows just outside the Kingdom walls. The forest was there long before the Kingdom and will be there long after it falls. It's home to trees older than time itself – trees that hold the wisdom of the ages and some of them have been known to share it if asked nicely.

You're in search of a particular tree. A tree that hasn't always been a tree.

Ages ago, there was a magic user named Gideon, known among the Four Kingdoms to be gentle and kind to those in need. He was also conceited and self-important and as time went on, his ego grew until the day came that he challenged the Gods and as punishment, they struck him down and turned him into a tree, every day growing a little more forgotten, a little more wooden.

There was hardly any life left in him the last time you'd been to the tree – he was becoming sleepy and forgetful. Soon, the Gods' punishment will be fulfilled.

Your horse slows its canter to a walk, suspicious of the unfamiliar surroundings. Normally, you travel by foot when you come to the Gideon Tree, leaving your horse at the royal stables – the forest is home to many ancient beings and not all of them have good intentions at heart – but there's no time to waste if you have any hope of curing the Princess in time.

As you progress deeper into the forest, less and less light leaks in from between the treetops until you're surrounded by semi-darkness in spite of it being barely midday. The air becomes thick and cloistering and sweat makes your shift stick to your back for want of a breeze. You know you're getting close because you can hear the swell of birdsong, ever louder the closer you get to the Gideon Tree – in punishment, as in life, he is a friend to birds.

You dismount your horse as the road ahead splits into three paths; tying the reins to a low-hanging branch, you approach on foot a small clearing aside of the main road, home to but one tree, bathed in sunlight almost angelically. You whistle a few notes and the songbirds perched among the branches repeat it back to you.

The tree begins to shudder and creak as it awakes from its ever growing slumber. "Are you lost?" it croaks, voice husky with disuse.

The guard dragon the Queen sent with you growls low in its throat, approaching the tree warily, sniffing at its roots. You click your tongue at the dragon – the tree means no harm and couldn't exactly act on it even if it did, but it would only take one errant spark for the dragon to set the forest ablaze and you hate to think of all the wisdom that would be lost with it.

"Aren't we all lost?" you reply, "For to be found is only the start of getting lost again."

With great difficulty, the tree opens its eyes with a great groaning of bark, eyeing you curiously. He doesn't seem to recognize you, though you're not surprised. Everything that made him human once has all but faded. Perhaps it should sadden you, but you can't help feeling that he deserves his punishment – a magic user must, above all, be humble and generous of spirit.

"The Princess of Laurentia has fallen gravely ill," you inform him sombrely, trying hard to keep your voice level lest you betray the depths of your emotions.

The tree hums a thoughtful note, but says nothing and you're unsure if it's because he does not care or cannot remember how to.

"I'm looking for the way to the Freesia Fields," you continue, hoping he's not so far gone as to have forgotten the way. In life, Gideon had travelled the Four Kingdoms in search of knowledge – he was one of very few people to have ever ventured into the Dark Forest and returned alive.

"You must not venture there," the tree warns solemnly. "You will not come back alive."

"I must," you insist. "I need the flower to cure the Princess. It is the only thing that can cure the Great Pox." You pause, swallowing down the lump that has risen in your throat. "I will not let her die, so long as there's breath in my body."

Long ago, you'd sworn to the Princess that you'd never let anything happen to her. She'd laughed and said she wasn't some air-headed lady-in-waiting and she could take care of herself; in fact, _she _would take care of _you_. You'd smiled fondly and kissed her sweetly, bargaining that the two of you would always take care of each other. She'd agreed to that willingly, though not before stealing another kiss.

The tree thinks on this for several moments. "There are other ways to procure the flower," he says sagely. "The Seer has some. Or was it the Great Sphinx? No, I think it was the Three Wise Men." He pauses, frowns. "I can't remember. Getting old, you know?" He shrugs his branches. "The road to the Wise Men is to the left of the road to the Sphinx, but the road to the Seer is not next to the Sphinx's road."

You wait for several moments, but that appears to be all he's about to say on the matter. His eyes slide shut, the creases in his aged face settling back into the grain of bark, any sign of life vanishing as he returns to his ever deepening sleep.

You heave a sigh, climbing back on your horse and setting off with a click of your tongue.

You can't help but think that this significantly complicates matters...

**Which road will you choose?**

**If you want to follow the road to the left, go to Yellow 5.**

**If you want to follow the road to the right, go to Red 2.**

**If you want to follow the road straight on, go to Orange 2.**


	16. Purple 1

"_No fair!" Emily shrieked, racing away from you, barely escaping the tips of your fingers. "You're cheating!"_

_When you were seven and harmless, before Emily was expected to be a proper Princess, before your magic was known and you were banned from the castle, you were allowed to play together. Granted, the Queen's idea of playing was sitting primly with your dolls, while the two of you preferred to take off your stockings and shoes and race barefoot through the gardens._

"_Am not!" you called back, sticking your tongue out at her, though she'd ran far enough away not to see. "You're just too slow!"_

"_Hey!" she cried, indignant. She stopped running, turned to face you, hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of her mother. "I am not _slow_!"_

"_Are too," you replied, running and pouncing on her, tackling her to the ground. The two of you scrabbled for purchase, each trying to pin the other._

_She finally got the upperhand, pressing your shoulders into the grass with a cackle. "Say it," she demanded._

"_Never!"_

"_Say I win!" she repeated._

"_Make me!"_

"_I'm the Princess, so you hafta," she said imperiously._

"_You win," you grumbled. Then, under your breath, you added, "Cheater."_

_She grinned at you, a sliver of pink tongue peeking out between her teeth, and you just couldn't stay mad. She climbed off of you, dusting off her skirt, then offering a hand to help you up._

"_Next time, _you're _it," you declared sternly._

"_A Princess is never _it_," she replied with perfect Princess poise._

_You just stuck out your tongue again, making certain that this time she saw. She giggled and stuck her tongue out right back. Both of you knew that if her mother ever saw, she'd skin her alive, but that was part of the fun._

_Something in the corner of her eye caught Emily's attention and she grabbed your hand, tugging you along so fast you nearly stumbled over your own feet. She pulled you to a locked golden gate in a fence of hedges, looked both ways, then pulled a pin from her hair, making her long raven locks tumble down around her shoulders. She proceeded to use the pin to unlock the fence, periodically peering over her shoulder to be certain you weren't about to be caught._

_When the tumblers in the lock clicked, she flashed you a smug grin. "I could've just used my magic..." you said pointedly, causing her to roll her eyes._

"_You can never _ever _tell anyone I let you in here, okay?" she said seriously. You nodded your agreement. "Swear it," she insisted, holding out her hand for a pinky promise._

"_This better be good," you muttered, but obliged her anyway._

_Then she pushed open the gate, allowing you entrance to a lush garden of exotic flowers you'd never before seen. Movement overhead caught your eye, but when you looked up, there was nothing there. Emily whistled a few notes and, as you stood stock still, a head of brilliant golden plumage peeked out from among the treetops._

_Seeming to recognize Emily, the bird fluttered down to land on her shoulder, cooing happily. Emily turned to you with wide excited eyes. "It's a Firebird," she whispered. "There's only a few left in all the Kingdoms because they're hunted for their magic. They come here to nest in safety because only a few people know of this garden."_

"_It's beautiful," you whisper, afraid of spooking the great bird. You whispered a few words and a fistful of sunflower seeds appeared in your palm. The Firebird watched with interest as you summoned the seeds, proceeding to eat greedily from your hand before fluttering off into the verdure._

_In its wake, a single tail feather floated silently to the ground, glowing like the embers of a fire in the dark of night. Without a word, Emily bent to pick up the feather with reverent fingers. The two of you shared a secret smile as she wove the feather into a lock of your hair, still glowing._

* * *

You'd have been lying if you said you didn't doubt your decision on the journey back the way you'd come. But what's done is done and it's far too late now to take any of it back. You've made your peace with that.

The hour is late by the time you find yourself back at the Gideon Tree.

You knock sharply on his trunk, briefly feeling guilty over waking him up, but the guilt is quickly pushed aside by concern for the Princess and the knowledge that your time to find the remedy is quickly running out.

He groans dramatically as he opens his eyes, blinking sleepily at you. You can see that he does not remember who you are, even though you've spoken barely hours ago.

"Are you lost?" he asks around a yawn. "It's very late, you know."

"I'm well aware of the late hour," you insist, "But the matter is most urgent, I assure you. The Laurentian Princess has fallen victim of the Great Pox. That's of a far greater concern to me than social niceties and your beauty sleep."

"That's the second time today someone's told me that today..." he says, talking in circles and riddles.

"I know," you reply, fighting the flames of anger licking at you, "That was me. I need to find Freesia Fields," you repeat.

"You must not venture there," the tree warns solemnly, "You will not come back alive."

"You already told me that," you say, struggling to remain calm. "But your last advice sent me on a fool's errand."

"The greatest lesson in life is to know that sometimes even fools are right," the tree says sagely.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling slowly. "Please, I beg of you..."

He considers your plea for several long moments. Finally, he concedes, "The trouble is, all the roads have become tangled. Try again. The road to the Great Sphinx is opposite the road to the Three Wise Men and that's to the left of the way back to Laurentia."

**Choose a road to follow.**

**If you want to try the tree's route to the Laurentian Palace, go to Orange 1.**

**If you want to try the road to the left, go to Orange 2.**

**If you want to try the road to the right, go to Red 2.**

**If you want to try the road straight on, go to Yellow 5.**


	17. Purple 2

You tuck into the spaghetti with gusto, letting out a little moan of pleasure as the taste hits your tongue. This pasta is the best thing you've ever eaten. The pasta is cooked perfectly al dente, the thick red sauce seasoned flavourfully, and the Parmesan cheese sprinkled on top is rich and salty. You can't help but think the Grey Wizard missed his calling as chef...

A chef of his calibre would have regents fighting over him – anything he asked for, he could have had. The fact that he's instead chosen a life of solitude and exile – the life of a magician – is baffling to you and you might've asked him why if you didn't fear doing so would be considered ill manners.

Of course, the thought is only in your head for a very short while before it's pushed right out of your mind by the more pressing matter of your growling stomach.

You scarf back the bowl like you haven't eaten in weeks, pausing only briefly to hope you aren't being rude to your gracious host who has busied himself digging through jars and boxes and assorted miscellany in what you hope is a search for Freesia.

He digs among his possessions like a badger digging a hole, sending items flying across the cabin with clinks and clatters and the occasional bang of something magical exploding into a shower of sparks. Your guard dragon is watching him with interest, slowly creeping ever closer to him until something explodes, sending him skittering away to the safety of the furthest corner.

As you swallow the last few bites of your meal, you start to feel drowsy, but you brush the feeling aside as the effects of a big meal and the fact that you'd started your journey quite early in the morning, so it's only natural that you'd be a little sleepy.

You reach for the nearby glass of water, downing the whole thing quickly, washing away the remaining sting of spices on your tongue. You can feel the cool liquid trickling down your throat and you suddenly realize that you'd been parched, not having stopped your journey long enough to drink from your waterskin. (Emily always said that when others were in need, you neglected yourself to the point of your own ruination...)

Thirst satiated, your head slowly starts to loll forward before snapping back to consciousness scant seconds later. You repeat the process again and again, gradually staying asleep longer and longer until you no longer wake up...

* * *

You blink back into consciousness with all the sudden sharpness of falling off a horse – asleep one moment, wide awake the very next. You hadn't even realized you'd fallen asleep... You realize then that the pasta must have been enchanted. You shake your head, roll your eyes. The Grey Wizard had always been rumoured to be a trickster and apparently, those rumours at least, were very true.

At least, you hope this is only a playful prank and not a roundabout death sentence...

Your heartbeat ratchets up at the thought, but you take slow deep breaths to calm yourself, knowing that a cool collected head is the best way to ensure your safety in whatever situation you've found yourself.

You proceed to take stock of your surroundings.

You're surrounded by a deep velvety darkness, the likes of which you've never experienced, like you're in a place that light itself has never quite dared to venture. You can barely the end of your nose for the darkness and you sincerely hope you haven't landed in the fabled Snake Pit where a great leviathan is rumoured to live and no one has ever ventured there and returned alive. (Which also means no one can be certain it exists at all, but sometimes rumour is more important than fact in your world...)

You stand carefully from your chair, holding your breath as you set down your feet, awaiting a painful bite and a quick death. Thankfully, neither come. You extend your hands in front of you and take slow measured steps, one foot in front of the other, until you feel the cold unforgiving surface of rock beneath your hands. You must be in a cave of some sort, you realize.

There is a great mountain range on the very edge of the Kingdoms, home to an elaborate system of caves. This means you've somehow been transported a great distance very quickly and you hope to one day cross paths with the Grey Wizard again and query as to how he accomplished such a feat. (And also, _why_...)

You continue your slow progress forward until there is suddenly nothing beneath your palms and you nearly fall flat on your face. You conclude that you've come to a small passageway and round the corner, feeling to your right until you find the surface of the cave wall again.

A cool breeze wafts down the corridor, meaning there must be an exit somewhere ahead. You shiver in the cold dark dank and eagerly await the warmth of the sun on your skin again. You _hate _caves. And not just because they're usually occupied by something inhuman and often unkind.

In the distance, there is a small pinprick of light and you decide to head towards it, hoping you'll find a way out before you run into whatever being might inhabit this cave...

Just as you've mustered all your courage and begin the trek towards the light, hiking steadily uphill, a voice booms out, "Who dares disturb my rest?"

You open your mouth to respond, but can't make any sound come out.

"Do not come any closer if you value your life," the echoing voice warns.

An icy frisson of fear races down your spine, the inhabitant's words decidedly unfriendly and unwelcoming. Unfortunately, though, you have little choice but to continue towards the light as it is your only egress from the situation into which you've quite literally fallen...

**Feel your way towards the light, coming to Green 2.**


	18. Purple 3

"Coffee..." you repeat quietly, more to yourself than to the Wizard. You can't quite figure out why he thinks you might be in possession of some when you have no more wealth to your name than he does. You're about to shake your head when something jars loose in your mind.

It takes a moment for the memory to surface in your sleep-addled daze, but you suddenly remember the day's earlier adventures and the jar of coffee nestled inside your satchel. Eyes lighting up, reach for the satchel, praying to the Gods that by some miracle the jar hasn't broken or this might all be for nought... You dig about in your bag, glass jars filled with healing herbs, scented salves, and curatives of your own concoction clinking about as you rummage.

Finally, your hand lands on a warm glass vessel wrapped in a handkerchief and you let out a breath of relief. With reverent hands, you lift the prize out of your satchel and carefully unwrap it to reveal the heated liquid sloshing about inside.

You look up, meeting the Wizard's eyes and smile triumphantly. "You're in luck," you tell him. "You've no idea the things I had to do to get this..."

The Wizard claps his hands together with child-like excitement. "Wonderful, wonderful," he declares, extending his hands toward the jar.

You snatch it out of reach at the last minute. "Please, sir," you say as politely as you can manage while attempting to bargain with someone with power great enough to turn you to dust should he so desire. "I'm going to need something from you in return..."

"Of course, of course," he says genially, "Where are my manners? Good coffee is most difficult to come by, afterall." He holds up one finger in indication that you should wait and he disappears into a small room off the main sitting area where he proceeds to clatter and bang about in the small space to your great curiosity.

After several long minutes he emerges again with a jar of his own.

You feel your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. After everything, you can scarcely believe you've finally found what you'd set out for. "Is that...?" you manage to choke out. Relieved tears fill your eyes knowing that the Princess shall not die, that your questing has not been in vain.

"A jar of dried Freesia," the Wizard finishes for you, a kindly smile on his face as if he knows exactly what it is you've been through and how overjoyed you are to see the fruits of your labour finally before you. "As promised."

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer the jar of coffee to him, accepting the Freesia in exchange. You cradle the new jar to your chest like an infant as if afraid of it being taken from you. (You're not certain what might happen to anyone who dares try...)

The Wizard unscrews the lid of his jar and inhales deeply of the rich aroma, letting out a contented sigh. "Fantastic," he says. "This is the good stuff. Wherever did you manage to find it?"

You open your mouth to reply, then shake your head, exhausted just at the memory. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," you say.

The Wizard laughs. "Somehow, I believe that." He disappears into the kitchen and rummages around for a moment, reappearing with two mismatched mugs that look to have been handcrafted on a potter's wheel and you wonder if there's more to the Grey Wizard than meets the eye. "Would you care for a cup?" he offers, already pouring the rich dark liquid into the mugs.

You open your mouth to decline, but before you can, he disappears back into the kitchen, returning with a jar of sugar and one of cream. He studies them both carefully for a moment, then takes a greedy sip of his drink without adding either.

The Wizard lets out a contented hum as he swallows. Then, he seems to realize he hadn't given you the chance to answer. He extends the second mug towards you with a nod of his head to indicate you should take it.

You shake your head, but do so appreciatively. "Thank you, but coffee just isn't to my taste," you say.

He looks at you with one brow raised as if in assessment. "No, I don't suppose it is," he says almost knowingly.

You wonder if somehow he knows about the birthday party and your misadventure with the coffee cake, but decide it best not to ask, even if you can't see how he could possibly be privy to that knowledge. Sometimes, ignorance truly was bliss...

Time has really gotten away from you and, in spite of the Wizard's welcoming home and delicious cooking, you know you must be continuing on your journey. You pull your cloak on around your shoulders, fastening it with its ornate clip about your neck, and shoulder your satchel.

At the door, the Grey Wizard pulls you in for an embrace and, close enough to your ear that his stubble scrapes your cheek, he whispers, "Keep your wits about you – your journey isn't over yet and the greatest threat may yet lie in front of you. Do not let your guard down, but do not despair, for so long as you have hope, the Princess does as well."

He pulls away, kisses you on both cheeks, offers you a smile that would seem to say he believes in you. You try to return it with that same faith.

He then presses a small bundle into your hands and, when you look at him with surprise and perhaps a little confusion, he winks. "I thought you might need sustenance on your journey."

You can't help your curiosity, peeking into the bundle to find he's packed you what appears to be a variety of home-baked biscotti, still warm from the oven. Your mouth is already watering, but you manage to restrain yourself from digging in just then.

You thank the Wizard most graciously for his hospitality and, exiting the cottage, climb into the saddle and gallop off through the forest, following the Wizard's directions, not entirely sure where he was leading you, but trusting him enough not to doubt him.

**Go to Blue 2.**


	19. Purple 4

_It was harder to see each other, now that you'd been banned from the castle, but Emily made it her mission to see you, no matter how difficult it may be to sneak out of the heavily-guarded castle. The two of you were committed to each other, though you were still too young to officially declare your intentions (as if your age were the single biggest barrier in your relationship...)._

_You were fortunate that day, as the Queen had left on a diplomatic envoy to the Kingdom of Alveza, leaving Emily behind to oversee the daily operations of the Kingdom on her own (though no one had said so in so many words, everyone knew it was a test to see if Emily were capable of running the Kingdom at such a time as the Queen was ready to abdicate). Of course, she'd also left behind strict orders that Emily not be allowed outside the castle without a guard, but that had never stopped her before and she certainly wasn't about to let it stop her now._

_Together, the two of you had ridden to the outskirts of the Kingdom where a small idyllic lake separated it from the edges of the Great Beyond – a place where the Faeries liked to congregate by the light of the full moon. Emily had never seen a Faerie and, when you'd told her you were a changeling, she'd made you promise to show her one day._

_You'd planned a rather elaborate evening – you'd watch the sunset with a picnic you'd spent the day preparing for and lay together in the grass to watch the Faeries dance across the sky. Perhaps, and you tried not to get your hopes up prematurely, the opportunity would arise for you to kiss her again._

_As you'd lain down a blanket for the two of you to lay on, a small mewling sound had hit your ears. "Did you hear that?" you asked Emily._

_She cocked her head to the side, listening for the faint sound. The mewling came again, then once more. Emily dropped to her knees, carefully parting the long grass overgrown with catnip weeds, then paused, a small, "Oh!" emitting from her lips._

_Her eyes lit up and, for a moment, you feared it was an injured Faerie. Though it would be indebted to you forever if you were able to rehabilitate it, Fae were notoriously slow healers...not to mention enormous pains in the ass when they were in pain._

_You sank to your knees next to her as she held up something in her cupped palms. Thankfully, it was not a Faerie, but an ever so tiny kitten. You let out a little gasp, reaching over to stroke the fur on the top of the kitten's head. It blinked wide eyes up at you and let out another mewl._

_Emily looked to you with hope-filled eyes. "Can we keep him?" she begged._

"_You're the Princess," you pointed out, "You can have anything you want..."_

_She shook her head. "Mother doesn't allow pets. Please, you have to take him – he's too small to survive on his own." She worked up her best puppy dog eyes, fixing you with a pleading look. Then an idea struck her. "You don't have a familiar!"_

"_A what?" you asked on a laugh._

"_A familiar," she repeated, "You know, like a witch."_

"_I'm not a witch," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "I just have magic."_

"_Whatever," Emily replied. "The point is, you need a familiar, so you have to keep Sergio."_

"_Sergio?" You raised a brow._

"_That's his name," she said decisively._

_You just shook your head, smiling fondly. "You're so weird. I love you."_

_Emily's lips twitched like she wanted to smile, but was trying not to. "You've never said that before..."_

"_I have so."_

"_When we were kids," she countered. "That didn't count."_

_You looked at her pointedly, one brow quirked._

"_I love you too, by the way," she added, batting her eyes sweetly._

"_Fine," you sighed dramatically. "I'll keep the cat."_

_Emily laughed. "I love you _more_." Then, she leaned in to press a sweet kiss to your lips and you couldn't help but be glad you'd given in._

* * *

You can't be certain whether you trust the seer or not, whether there's malice hidden in the murky white depths of her eyes. You wish you could believe in her goodness – in _everyone's _goodness – outright, but that simply isn't the world you live in.

She must sense your hesitation because she smiles, almost sadly. "I wish neither you nor the Princess any harm," she says softly. "I have seen her good heart, her gentle spirit; the Princess has the power to usher in an era of great peace for those with magic and without. Should she survive..."

You open your mouth to ask why, then, she cannot simply _give _you the remedy.

"Because that is not the way," she answers your unasked question. "It is not up to me. You must make the choice yourself. I cannot interfere with the freewill of those who seek me out."

You consider debating whether this truly falls under the realm of freewill – afterall, she is of magic and those of supernatural abilities are often fond of loopholes and contests of wit – but ultimately decide against it, as you've tangled with too many Fae to think that outsmarting someone is always the quicker route.

After a moment's debate, you tap the box of your choosing, the wooden chest making a satisfying hollow thunking sound. The seer nods knowingly, your choice long since having been laid bare to her. If you aren't mistaken, you think you see a look of mischief flicker in her eyes, but it's gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

She opens the box to reveal a small jar of dried leaves. They appear familiar, though you can't quite place them at first. You take the jar from the seer's hands and open the lid, inhaling deeply of the scent. Your brows knit in confusion. "Catnip?" you ask, looking back to her for an answer. "It's a weed..."

"Even weeds may be practical, given the right situation," the seer replies mysteriously.

You want to roll your eyes, but manage to restrain yourself lest you offend her. You can't quite imagine a situation where catnip might be useful to you, unless you happen to be attacked by a hoarde of kittens...

"You doubt me?" the seer asked, brow raised.

You shake your head earnestly. "But _how_?" you insist, a little desperately. "How will it be useful? You've seen the future – tell me how I can use this to save the Princess..."

"You'll find out, in due time."

You want to argue further, but she doesn't seem to be about to reveal her secrets, no matter how urgently you demand answers to your questions. She simply dismisses you with a wave and a demand that the second lynx – the one named Miekle – show you out.

You almost forget to thank her, to pay reverence, in your haste to depart her ominous presence before remembering at the last second with a rushed curtsey.

As you take your leave, you hear the seer laughing as you race across the snowy meadow, the sound sending ice racing through your veins for reasons you can't quite fathom.

**Go to Purple 1.**


	20. Purple 5

As your horse gallops along the cobblestone bridge approaching the palace, hooves clicking a furious beat against stone, there comes a great shouting from the castle walls as the guards notice your approach. The drawbridge across the moat is lowered before you even have to slow your horse.

As you dismount, the great gilded wooden door you'd arrived at that morning is thrown open and the Queen herself comes down the steps to meet you, the hem of her blood red gown billowing about her feet. "You've finally returned," she says, almost eagerly (or it might've been, if she hadn't thought showing emotion a display of weakness).

You dip into a slight curtsey that isn't entirely up to standard for the presence of royalty, but you think you can be forgiven in the face of such urgency. "Have the pock marks started to show yet?" you ask as you rise.

The Queen shakes her head. "Not yet, but I fear it cannot be long before they do."

You nod once, in agreement for possibly the first time. "Show me to her?" you request (as if you don't already know the way).

* * *

As you push open the door to the Princess' chambers, you can't help but feel your heart beating vociferously in your throat as if it might leap out your mouth at any moment. You have the distinct feeling that you're seconds away from seeing your very worst fears realized...

Fortunately, though, the Princess' condition appears much the same as it had been when you'd left, just as the Queen had said. You quickly examine her lifeless form and, much to your relief, you can find no pox.

You squeeze Emily's hand gently, thanking whatever God that has listened to your prayers that she hasn't gotten worse. With your thumb, you tenderly stroke the back of her hand and you can almost – _almost –_ believe she's only sleeping.

The moment is interrupted, though, but the Queen's impatient demand of, "_Well_?"

You glance up at her, brow raised in confusion as if only remembering you weren't the only two in the room.

The Queen scoffs. "Can you cure her?" she snaps. "Did you find the remedy you set out for?"

You reach into your satchel and produce the hard won glass jar, holding it up so that the light catches it, seeming to illuminate the delicate purple petals from within. For a moment, even the Queen seems awed that you've managed to find some.

Without waiting for further prompting, you set about brewing the Freesia into a curative brew. Even as skilled as you are in the healing arts, it's a difficult potion to brew and even the slightest error can turn it into a useless sludge. You try not to let everyone see how anxious you are as you set to your work, fearful that your questing will all have been for nought. Finally, you have a thick bubbling violet liquid that smells distinctly floral, but you happen to know tastes like goblin piss... You carefully ladle it into a waiting goblet.

Your hands are shaking as you cross the room to the Princess' bedside and you very nearly spill the potion in your anxiety. Finally, you settle on the edge of the bed beside her and with tender fingers, tip open her mouth so that you can pour the potion past her lips.

For what feels like eons, there is no sound, no movement from the Princess as everyone waits with bated breath to see if your remedy will succeed in curing her. You know that if you do not, your head will likely be on a pike before day's end...

You chance a look at the Queen, finding her face grave as she stares down at her daughter's lifeless form. She's barely even breathing and, for a brief moment, in spite of all that she's done to you, you can't help but pity her. However difficult it would be for you to lose Emily, certainly it would be worse for the Queen to lose her only daughter, the last living relative she has.

You open your mouth as if to give some words of comfort to her, when there's a small sound startling you. You glance back to the Princess and find that some colour has returned to her pallid cheeks.

"Emily?" you breathe, forgetting in that moment propriety and manners and everything that you've used to mask the familiar nature of your relationship.

Her eyes slowly start to flutter before opening completely, her lips parting on a gasp for air. She seems confused and overwhelmed and you can't exactly blame her – waking to find nearly a baker's dozen concerned faces staring down at you would be rather upsetting.

You smile tenderly down at her, gently stroking her hair away from her face, but can't quite form any words. You don't have the chance, though, before the Queen is pushing you out of the way.

"M-mother?" Emily stammers.

"You're alright, Dear," the Queen tells her. "You're okay."

"What happened?" Emily rasps, looking about the room until she catches your gaze. You offer a soft smile that she returns almost shyly.

"You nearly succumbed to the Great Pox," the Queen informs her, attempts a smile.

"But..." Emily says slowly, concern crossing her face, "The only way to cure the Pox is the Freesia flower which can only be found in the Dark Forest..."

"This Sorceress went in search of some," the Queen tells her. "She cured you." You can't help but think those are the nicest words the Queen has ever spoken about you.

Emily's gaze flies back to yours, her brows leaping up her forehead in surprise and fear. "I need a moment alone with her," Emily commands.

The Queen seems reluctant to leave the two of you alone, given your history, but she eventually nods once in consent.

Once the door to her chambers groan shut, you fly into Emily's arms, holding her as tightly as you dare. She clings to you even tighter. You blink back relieved tears as you stroke her hair, hardly daring to believe this moment is real. When you pull back from the embrace, you can't find any words, just shaking your head slowly, smile on your lips.

"Did you really travel to the Dark Forest?" she breathes.

You laugh softly. "It's a long story... I'll tell you when you're feeling better," you promise, then lean in to press a tender kiss to her lips.


	21. Green 1

You snuggle down comfortably in the bed, asleep the second your head hits the down pillow.

Your sleep is deep and dreamless and it feels like you've been asleep for hours – possibly even days – when the Grey Wizard gently shakes you awake. You sit up with a start, looking about at your surroundings, confused and concerned, unable to remember where you are and how you'd gotten there.

"Fear not, child," the Wizard assures. "You're safe here. No harm can befall you while you're under my roof and my protection."

Slowly, your memory starts to return to your sleep-addled brain, piece by piece until you remember why you're there in the first place: the Princess. You gasp sharply, clapping a hand to your mouth. Who knows how long you'd slept, how much time you'd wasted, how much worse the Princess has gotten while you lazed away... "What time is it?" you demand. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Only an hour," the Wizard assures you. A glance out the window confirms that the sun has hardly moved from its place in the sky. Evidently, he'd kept his promise to wake you after only a short while and you're grateful for that.

You hum a small note of surprise. "It felt so much longer..." you muse, more to yourself than to the Wizard. You yawn, stretch, feeling incredibly refreshed for only an hour's rest. Ordinarily, your sleep is shallow and restless and you rarely wake well-rested, so this is a welcome turn of events.

He nods knowingly. "Time has a funny habit of behaving strangely in these beds..." he says mysteriously. You can't be entirely certain whether he means that literally or if he simply means that they're so comfortable that a few hours' sleep is the equivalent to a much longer rest in a regular bed. Truthfully, it could be either.

You're loathe to climb out of the bed, leaving the warmth of the luxuriant furs and blankets behind (if it hadn't been for the urgency of your mission, you can't honestly say you wouldn't have spent entire days in that bed), but you stand dutifully, ready to continue on.

You swing your feet out of bed and slip them into your boots, beginning the complex and arduous process of lacing them up. They aren't entirely practical, but the Princess had had them cobbled for you after you'd gotten bit on the ankle by a rattlesnake years ago, back when you'd worn deerskin moccasins instead of a more practical boot, simply because they were quieter (and more comfortable). You hadn't died, obviously, but it had been too close a call for the Princess' liking, so she insisted you wear something with ankle protection and you loved her far too much to argue about the matter.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you stand and turn to face the Grey Wizard who is watching you with mild interest. "Have you managed to find some Freesia?" you inquire, polite but urgent. While you are refreshed and grateful for the chance to recuperate, your patience is quickly waning and you're eager to be on your way once again – hopefully, back to the castle with a remedy in hand.

"Tell me again what's happened to the princess?" he gently encourages, without bothering to provide a straight answer. Without waiting for your reply, he retreats down the stairs again, so you're forced to follow him, glaring at his retreating back as he continues to waste time, seemingly aimlessly.

You sigh, but indulge his curiosity, describing the note you'd received from the Queen mere hours ago. "When I arrived at the Laurentian Palace, a sombre disquiet lay upon it – you could tell they feared the worst. Indeed, at first I did as well... The Princess had all the hallmarks of the Spindle Sickness which, as you know, has no cure. But she bore no tell-tale mark upon her finger to indicate thusly."

The Wizard nodded slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And what has lead you to conclude it is the Pox?" You can't quite tell if his words are motivated by simple curiosity, an abundance of caution, or whether he truly doubts your skill as a healer. If he weren't wiser and more powerful than you (and if he hadn't just shown you such hospitality), you might have chosen to be offended. As it was, though, you give him the benefit of the doubt.

"She hasn't yet developed the pock marks," you say, "But I feel certain it is only a matter of time and I could not afford to wait for them to appear. The only chance one has against the Pox is to administer the Freesia nectar before the first marks develop."

"Indeed," he says simply. "And what has lead you here, rather than into the depths of the Dark Forest from whence it grows?"

"I intended to venture there," you reply, "But the Gideon Tree made it clear to me that it would be a journey to my own death and that you might be in possession of some instead."

If rumour was to be believed, once upon a time, the Grey Wizard and the Gideon Tree had been an inseparable pair, pioneering magical spells and healing techniques no one had yet thought of. Together, they changed the way people used magic. But while the Gideon Tree started on the path that would one day make him, well, a tree...the Grey Wizard instead became a hermit and shied away from the boastful nature that would condemn his once friend and compatriot.

"And if I do not possess some?"

"Then the Princess will surely die," you say gravely. "For I have not the time to quest through the Dark Forest any longer." You feel tears pricking your eyes."Please," you whisper, "Do you have any Freesia?"

"Do you, by any chance, have some coffee?" the Grey Wizard asks, almost apropos of nothing.

"C-coffee?" you repeat incredulously.

He nods. "I do love a good strong cup of coffee and it's so very rare in these parts..." he laments. "Entire ages of the world have passed since I last enjoyed a cup."

"I..." you stutter, taken aback by the odd request. "I-umm..."

"I would be ever so grateful if you might have some to share..."

**If you have some coffee, go to Purple 3.**

**If you do not have any coffee, go to Yellow 2.**


	22. Green 2

You hold your breath as you duck inside the cave, trying to make as little sound as possible. Perhaps it's possible for you to wait out the storm in the mouth of the cave without being spotted by whatever lurks inside...

The cave, though, is shallower than you'd anticipated and you immediately come face to face with a fully grown Sphinx. You can't help the curse that slips past your lips – you could've handled just about anything else that lurks in caves (dragons, trolls, the occasional gorgon...), but you have a history with Sphinxes and it isn't exactly a shining example of your skills.

_After Emily had been betrothed to the King of Valhalla, you'd ridden to the Kingdom with the intent of 'kidnapping' her from a marriage she didn't want to a King she didn't love (and who, if rumours were to be believed, had a history of brides disappearing mysteriously). You'd made it as far as the Kingdom's borders...then things all went to Hell in a handbasket._

_Things had been far too quiet – that should have been your first clue that things were about to go very very wrong – as you crossed an almost idyllic meadow at the base of the disputed mountain range, when you heard a noise that sounded like a small animal in pain._

_You'd followed the sound to what appeared to be a small winged lion cub. Though you'd never seen one before, you knew this to be a baby Sphinx (their faces didn't take on human qualities until they turned five). This cub appeared to have broken its leg and was wailing as if in great pain and though they were severely dangerous in adult form, you couldn't imagine this tiny creature causing you much harm should you try to help it._

_As you'd dug in your bag for material to splint the limb and herbs to ease the pain, you'd heard a sound behind you – starting small and faint, but growing closer and closer, louder and louder. You'd turned, prepared to fight off a predator looking to make an easy meal from the cub (though Sphinx meat was notoriously inedible), only to find three more cubs approaching. It was clear from their bared teeth that they had ill intentions at heart and you'd felt fear pound in your chest like a war drum._

_Before you could react, the closest cub launched itself at your throat and you were barely able to knock it aside before it could latch its teeth in your neck. You weren't so lucky the second time as the cub that had played at being injured caught your wrist in its jaws, ripping and tearing your flesh like wet tissue._

_As you'd cried out, looked down to survey the damage, the rest of the cubs were on you. The last thing you remembered was looking up at the four sets of teeth as you bled to what you were certain would be your death._

_You'd awoken three days later in a small cave with a woman you'd never met watching you from across a small campfire. "I wasn't certain I'd given you enough blood," she said by way of greeting as you pushed yourself to sit up; before you could, though, she gently pushed you to lie back down._

_You tried to respond, but found your throat dry and parched. The unfamiliar woman handed you a waterskin and watched as you drank greedily. You tried to sit up again, wincing as horrible pain ripped through your middle._

"_You were nearly eviscerated by the Sphinxes," the woman explained. "You nearly died."_

_You lift up the hem of your tunic the reveal a ragged scar running across your midsection that had been carefully, but hastily, stitched together._

"_The pack was orphaned after a sorceress killed their mother and now they roam across the Kingdom taking revenge on magic users who cross their path," she explained. "You were lucky I came across you in time..."_

_As you convalesced, you learned that the woman's name was Elle. She'd very nearly died at the hands of a Kelpie and had since devoted her life to hunting magical creatures who preyed on mortals. She'd saved your life and you owed her a great debt you vowed to one day repay._

You swallow thickly past the ball of fear that has taken up residence in your throat. You try not to show that you're afraid, even though the Sphinx has surely smelled it on you already. As if in memory of your near-fatal injury, your scar twinges painfully. You can't help but wonder if your luck has finally run out...

"You shouldn't have come here," the Great Sphinx warned as if sensing the thoughts crossing your mind, crossing her golden paws. "I'd have thought you knew better..."

You wonder how the Sphinx seems to know you – or at the very least, had heard of you. "I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice," you insist, trying to infuse your voice with more confidence than you feel. "I was informed you might be in possession of some Freesia flowers?"

The Sphinx yawns, licks a paw lazily a few times before answering, "Perhaps. Surely there are other, less perilous, ways to obtain the flowers, though?"

"I'm not afraid," you reply, though you both know it's a lie. You stand up a little straighter, tipping your chin up imperiously. "If you know who I am, surely you also know why I'm here..."

The Sphinx nods once, but offers no further explanation. Word travels fast in the Kingdoms.

"The Princess has never done you any harm, she has no magic," you explain, "She is good and pure of heart. If you help me save her, I'll see to it that she grant you any favour you ask..." You're not entirely sure you can promise that, but you have very little bargaining power here, so you're not above stretching the truth a little.

The Sphinx muses on that for a moment. "What do you say we play a little game?" she offers with a wide smile, showing far too many needle-like teeth.

**If want to play the Sphinx's game, go to Blue 3.**

**If you want to run away, go to Orange 4.**

**If you have a jar of catnip, go to Yellow 4.**


	23. Green 3

The palace doors swing open easily under the slightest touch, in spite of the castle seeming abandoned. It's eerily silent inside, the air still and thick and ominous somehow as you cross the foyer on tentative footsteps. A fear you cannot name and do not understand curdles inside you and you start to worry you've made a grave mistake in coming here.

Just as you're debating turning back, a great lynx pads up to you, moving silently in spite of its size. It surveys you with otherworldly amber eyes as if judging your worthiness, an emissary of some ethereal supernatural being. You hold stock still as it circles you, hardly daring even to breathe lest you break its spell. Finally, it finishes its surveillance, sitting primly in front of you, nodding once, and you inherently know you've been judged worthy to proceed.

Without knowing why, you curtsey to the lynx in thanks – if it's anything like a dragon, you have no desire to offend. Silently, the lynx stands again, wandering off, which you take to mean you should follow it.

The lynx leads you up a set of tightly spiralling stairs that lead you endlessly upwards until you reach what must be the highest room in the tallest spire. The lynx pushes through a slightly ajar door that seems to be made of ornately sculpted bronze inlaid with milky opals and as you approach the door, you can see that the designs form a series of pictograms that, if you aren't mistaken, predict the end of the world. You don't have time to examine them more closely, though, because a voice from inside the room calls out your name.

You push the door open with the slightest touch, in spite of its great metallic heft, to find a small circular room – the walls are lined with strangely lit glass balls beyond number, each containing a live butterfly of varying colours and sizes, beautiful in their frailty. You're so focused on the captive creatures that you almost fail to notice the other occupant of the room: a beautiful woman, head turned to the floor so you cannot see her face.

With one hand, she strokes the long silken fur of the lynx. "Thank you, Henri," she coos to the great cat. A second nearly identical lynx lies curled up at her feet; he lifts his head momentarily, blinks sleepily at its brother, then returns to sleeping.

Timidly, you clear your throat to get the woman's attention. Her neck snaps up suddenly at the sound and you come face to face with two cloudy white eyes and you know somehow that this is the seer the Gideon Tree spoke of.

Seers are even rarer and more sought after than magic users. Their gifts are rarely given by the Gods and are extremely painful to receive – so much so that few who are deigned to receive the gift survive the process of coming into their full powers. For all that they gained in their clairvoyance, they lost much as well, the process slowly taking their sight and, if the rumours were true, if one lived long enough, the gift at away at the brain like a virus until it took their sanity as well.

Few, if any, lived that long. For those that did survive the initial receiving were often captured by slave traders and sold as slaves to the highest bidder: regents with more money than sense. The seers were kept in cages like wild beasts so that their masters might make use of their gift, so that they might be given the knowledge that would allow them to cheat death and defy their enemies. Those seers that were uncooperative were often sacrificed to keep the chimera at bay for, unlike magic users, their skin was poisoned by the so-called 'Seer's Sickness'.

You'd thought the last of the surviving seers to have perished, so you're greatly surprised to see that one still remains.

"I can see every choice that you have and have not made, every choice you will or will not make on this fateful day. They are laid bare before me by the Gods," the seer says by way of greeting.

"I..." you start to say. You feel sweat forming on your brow, making the loose hairs that have escaped the ornate plait down your back stick to your face. Whether from nerves or the head of the room, you cannot be sure. "I need to know..."

"You have questions," the seer says, speaking over you, "But I can answer none of them." If she's affected by the sweltering heat, she shows no sign of it, every golden hair perfectly in place. An almost mischievous smile plays about her pink bow lips.

"But..." you start to protest.

She continues on, ignoring you. "Not because I do not know the answers, but because you are not permitted to know. For were you permitted the knowledge, you would then have the power to change the course of history."

"I don't care about history!" you burst out, "I care about _Emily _and she's _dying_!"

It's hard to read emotion in the seer's opaque eyes, but for the briefest moment, you think you catch a glimpse of compassion glinting there. You cannot be certain, though, because just as quickly as it came, it's gone again. "You have the ability to change many things, young sorceress," she murmurs, "But you cannot change this. It has already been written."

"So, she's dead either way?" you ask, feeling like all the air has been sucked from the room and you're struggling to breathe. You cannot accept that. You _refuse _to accept that. You open your mouth to say something, to demand answers from the seer, even if you have to use magic to get them.

As if reading your mind, the seer holds up one hand to stop any rash move you might have made. "You may yet save the Princess..." she cautions. With a flourish, she removes a thick velvet cloth from the table before her, revealing three chests, each the same size and shape, each exactly as ornate as the last. "One of the boxes contains the remedy you seek," she informs you. "You may only open one. Choose wisely. The Princess's life hangs in the balance."

**You can open the box on the left, go to Purple 4.**

**You can open the box on the right, go to Orange 3.**

**You can open the box in the middle, go to Red 5**


	24. Green 4

The third man is grey-haired with a kind face and something about him is incredibly familiar though you aren't sure from when or where. Whatever it is, it instantly puts you at ease, though you couldn't have said why.

You clear your throat quietly, then reach out to tap him on his shoulder, taking an immediate step back out of reach, just in case you've chosen poorly. "I'm so sorry to disturb you," you effuse as his eyes blink open, "But my guard dragon wandered into your cottage and I didn't want to trespass, but..."

You gesture vaguely at the dragon who snuffles, sneezes, setting a small pile of straw in the corner ablaze with a spark. You wince.

The man snaps his fingers once and the blaze instantly hisses and smokes as if a bucket of water were just dumped on it.

"I'm _so _sorry," you start to apologize.

He holds up both hands placatingly to stem the tide of words as you prepare to launch into a spiel of apology. "Be at ease, child," he murmurs. "The dragon meant no harm."

Your eyes dart about the cottage to the other two men who remain in their meditation. "Are the legends true?" you dare to ask. "They say that two of you are killers while the other is kind..." In a roundabout way, you're asking which of those he is.

His lips quirk up in a small smile and he nods once. "You've chosen well. You are safe." And with a snap of his fingers, the other two men fizzle out of existence, as if they'd never been there at all.

Though he could easily be lying, you know in your heart that he is not. You curtsey low and respectful. "Thank you for your kindness," you murmur as you rise, offering a soft smile. "I am..." you start to introduce yourself, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

"I know who you are," he says. "I hear the whispers – there are great things expected of you, young sorceress. Great things indeed."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," you reply, "For I do not know your name, kind sir."

"Or perhaps you've simply forgotten me: I am the Grey Wizard."

You can't help but gasp sharply. "The Grey..." you start to repeat, falter, "But... But they say you vanished years ago and no one has ever seen you since."

"I disappeared, 'tis true," he concedes. "But not in the way everyone says. After the Gideon debacle, I had to go into hiding, lest people assume we were cut of the same cloth. At the time, I was not unlike him, but seeing his punishment gave me reason to pause. I took stock of myself and my actions and decided to become better. In my absence from society, I have learned much and worked fought the demons of my past."

"Is it true," you asked, "That you are the Godfather to the Princess of Laurentia?"

He chuckles low in his throat. "I had thought that particular tale to be lost to myth and time."

"It's true then?" He nods once. "But..._how_? The Queen hates everything magical..."

"The Queen, yes; the King, however..." He gives you a mischievous smile. "The King of Laurentia, while not of magic himself, was a great friend to sorcerers. Under his rule, his Kingdom was a great haven for all who wished to practice their magic in freedom."

"What changed?" you can't help but ask.

"The King's untimely death was shrouded in half-truths and outright lies, though you're far too young to remember. There were those who claimed the King of Valhalla had a hand in his death, fearing he was amassing a powerful magical army that might be used to overthrow the other Kingdoms. Others believe the King dabbled in magic and one day attempted a great spell beyond his powers and died as a result of it backfiring. The Queen's opinion was that the magic users the King harboured lusted after the throne and conspired to take it from him. The truth, is much more simple: he had a weak heart and one day, it simply failed. But the Queen's belief was so firmly entrenched that she outlawed all magic and anyone caught using it was immediately executed for suspicion of crimes against the Kingdom."

"And that's why you left the Kingdom?" you asked.

"Partly," he admits, "Partly because I had promised myself to a few ladies-in-waiting and they expected me to make honest women out of them..." He winks in such a way that you can't be certain if he's kidding or not.

You nod slowly, digesting everything he's just told you. "The Princess is in grave danger," you inform him. "She may well die if I don't return with some Freesia flowers. Please, do you have any?"

He strokes his beard in thought. "Perhaps. If I have, it's long since been buried in this mess. I really should tidy up around here one of these days..."

"If you could please look," you urge, "It's most urgent that I return. You see, the Great Pox..."

He once again holds up a hand to stem the tide of your words. "I will search. But first, you simply must eat something. You must be famished."

You open your mouth to protest again that time is of the essence, but your stomach betrays you by growling loudly and you realize you haven't eaten anything since you set off for the Laurentian palace that morning. "That would be most kind of you," you say graciously. The Grey Wizard is rumoured to be a most talented chef...

A chair comes skittering across the room of its own accord and slips in underneath you, causing you to sit down with an 'oof' of air rushing from your lungs in surprise. The chair pulls up to the table where there are three steaming bowls of pasta sitting before you. Their delicious scent wafts towards you and your mouth waters just from looking at them.

"Take your pick," your host says with a sweeping gesture indicating the bowls.

**If you want to eat the spaghetti, go to Purple 2.**

**If you want to eat the fettuccine, go to Red 3.**

**If you want to eat the ravioli, go to Yellow 3.**


	25. Green 5

You snuggle down comfortably in the bed, asleep the second your head hits the down pillow.

It feels like you've been asleep for hours – possibly even days – when the Grey Wizard gently shakes you awake. You sit up with a start, looking about at your surroundings, confused and concerned, unable to remember where you are and how you'd gotten there. "What time is it?" you demand. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Only an hour," the Wizard assures you.

You hum a small note of surprise. "It felt so much longer..." you muse. You yawn, stretch, feeling incredibly refreshed for only an hour's rest.

He nods knowingly. "Time has a funny habit of behaving strangely in these beds..." he says mysteriously. You can't be entirely certain whether he means that literally or if he simply means that they're so comfortable that a few hours' sleep is the equivalent to a much longer rest in a regular bed. Truthfully, it could be either.

You're loathe to climb out of the bed, leaving the warmth of the luxuriant furs and blankets behind (if it hadn't been for the urgency of your mission, you can't honestly say you wouldn't have spent entire days in that bed), but you stand dutifully, ready to continue on.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you stand and turn to face the Grey Wizard who is watching you with mild interest. "Have you managed to find some Freesia?" you inquire, polite but urgent.

"Tell me again what's happened to the princess?" he gently encourages, without bothering to provide a straight answer.

You sigh, but indulge his curiosity, describing the note you'd received from the Queen mere hours ago. "When I arrived at the Laurentian Palace, a sombre disquiet lay upon it – you could tell they feared the worst. Indeed, at first I did as well... The Princess had all the hallmarks of the Spindle Sickness which, as you know, has no cure. But she bore no tell-tale mark upon her finger to indicate thusly."

The Wizard nodded slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And what has lead you to conclude it is the Pox?"

"She hasn't yet developed the pock marks," you say, "But I feel certain it is only a matter of time and I could not afford to wait for them to appear. The only chance one has against the Pox is to administer the Freesia nectar before the first marks develop."

"Indeed," he says simply. "And what has lead you here, rather than into the depths of the Dark Forest?"

"I intended to venture there," you reply, "But the Gideon Tree made it clear to me that it would be a journey to my own death and that you might be in possession of some instead."

"And if I do not possess some?"

"Then the Princess will surely die," you say gravely. "For I have not the time to quest through the Dark Forest any longer." You feel tears pricking your eyes.

For whatever reason, your tears seem to move the Grey Wizard. He holds up one finger in indication that you should wait and he disappears into a small room off the main sitting area where he proceeds to clatter and bang about in the small space to your great curiosity.

He emerges a few moments later with a small glass jar clutched in his hand which he proceeds to offer to you. You take the jar with reverent fingers, hope welling in your chest. But only briefly before it comes crashing down, sinking like a stone into the pit of your stomach.

The jar is filled with dried leaves. They appear familiar, though you can't quite place them at first. You take the jar from the Wizard's hands and open the lid, inhaling deeply of the scent. Your brows knit in confusion.

"Catnip?" you ask skeptically, looking up at him with one raised brow. A moment goes by before you have the wherewithal to be grateful. "Thank you for the gift," you say quickly. "But how will this help me save the Princess?"

The Wizard taps the side of his nose, grinning mysteriously. Apparently, the answer to your question shall remain a secret.

You want to roll your eyes, but manage to restrain yourself lest you offend him. You can't quite imagine a situation where catnip might be useful to you, unless you happen to be attacked by a hoarde of kittens...

Time has really gotten away from you and, in spite of the Wizard's welcoming home and delicious cooking, you know you must be continuing on your journey. You pull your clock on around your shoulders, fastening it with its ornate clip about your neck, and shoulder your satchel.

At the door, the Grey Wizard pulls you in for an embrace and, close enough to your ear that his stubble scrapes your cheek, he whispers, "Keep your wits about you – your journey isn't over yet and the greatest threat may yet lie in front of you. Do not let your guard down, but do not despair, for so long as you have hope, the Princess does as well."

He pulls away, kisses you on both cheeks, offers you a smile that would seem to say he believes in you. You try to return it with that same faith.

He then presses a small bundle into your hands and, when you look at him with surprise and perhaps a little confusion, he winks. "I thought you might need sustenance on your journey."

You can't help your curiosity, peeking into the bundle to find he's packed you what appears to be a variety of home-baked biscotti, still warm from the oven. Your mouth is already watering, but you manage to restrain yourself from digging in just then.

You thank the Wizard most graciously for his hospitality and, exiting the cottage, climb into the saddle and gallop off through the forest, following the Wizard's directions, not entirely sure where he was leading you, but trusting him enough not to doubt him.

**Go to Red 2.**


	26. Orange 1

_You were kneeling in the Queen's flowerbeds among her prize-winning red roses when someone cleared their throat behind you. You whipped around, apology on your lips, expecting to see the head gardener glaring at you (again), but instead found the Princess. She had her hands on her hips, staring down at you imperiously, but you saw clear through the facade to the amusement underneath._

"_What do you think you're doing?" she demanded in her perfectly practiced regal voice. "Don't you know whose roses those are?"_

"_I'm burying treasure," you replied simply, turning back to your task of digging. You know the state of your nails would send any other Princess into hysterics, but Emily is different – she's eyeing you with jealousy, knowing that her mother would make her wash until she bled if she ever turned up looking like that._

"_Treasure?" she repeated, incredulous. "You can't dig there – the garden is just for looking at." She said the last part as if it were a particularly idiotic concept, one she knew from experience of having dug there._

"_If no one digs here, it's the perfect place to bury a treasure," you retorted._

_That seemed to pique her interest and she pulled off her shoes and stockings and bunched her skirts up around her knees to kneel in the dirt beside you. "What's your treasure?" she asked, eyeing the little wooden box with interest._

_You looked her up and down, seemingly weighing whether you could trust her with your secret. She may have been your best friend, but her mother was known Kingdoms wide as being staunchly anti-magic – if she ever found out about your abilities, you could very well be hanged._

"_Tell meeeeee," she wheedled, batting her eyes. "Please?"_

_You picked up the little box with reverence, handing it to her. "You can't tell _anyone_," you said gravely_

_She nodded her promise as she took the box in her hands like it might shatter if she so much as breathed too hard. She opened it slowly, then paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, then glancing back at the box. "What is it?" she asked, brow raised quizzically as her gaze returned to yours._

"_It's a Faerie Stone," you said as if it should be obvious._

"_A Faerie Stone..." she repeated skeptically._

_You nodded your insistence. "It's like a bezoar that comes from a Faerie's stomach."_

_Her mouth hung open slightly as she stared down at the stone, then her little nose wrinkled and she passed the box back to you. "Gross," she declared._

_You roll your eyes. "It's not _gross_. It's really rare and each one is attached to a prophecy, so it's special." You shut the lid of the box, cradling it protectively against your chest._

"_Then how did _you _get it?" she demanded, eyeing the box with suspicion and a little bit of awe._

"_The Faerie Queen gave it to me the day I left the Court to seek out my destiny," you informed her simply. You returned to your digging. "She told me one day I'd need it. That it would help me fulfil the prophecy."_

_Emily seemed to think on that for several long moments as you buried the box in the rich dark soil. "Will you take me there?" she asked eventually, eyes sparkling with anticipation._

"_To the Faerie Court?" you asked, surprised. You'd never met anyone who wasn't afraid of the Fae._

"_Please?" she begged. "I've always wanted to see the Fae... Mother never lets me do anything exciting or dangerous or magical."_

_You were only children, but you already knew you'd never be able to deny her anything. "On my twenty-fifth name day, I must return to the Court to pay my respects to the Queen. I'll take you then," you promised._

_Emily threw her arms around your neck._

* * *

On horseback, travelling as fast as seems wise, you follow the road the Gideon Tree has indicated (and hope that it is the correct one). Your guard dragon trots happily along at your side, wings flapping furiously as he runs, but comically undersized as they are, are unable to lift his weight off the ground.

Darkness has surely started to fall outside the forest, though it's hard to tell in the scant glimpses you're able to catch between the treetops as you canter along, so you've no idea what time it is. In spite of the late hour, though, the air is no less thick than it had been that morning and you can feel a rivulet of sweat trickling down your spine, sticky and unpleasant.

Little by little, the sound of birdsong from the Tree's branches fades until it has all but blended in with the sounds of the surrounding forest, just one sound among many – pleasant, if you'd had the time to stop and enjoy it. As it is, though, you're far too focused for the sound to even permeate your mind.

By now, news of the Princess' illness has travelled to the nearest Kingdoms and, as you pass through the citadel along the Merchant Road, you pass diplomatic envoys from the Kingdom of Morgana, no doubt laden with gifts from Queen Frances who has always been more of a mother figure to Emily than the Queen herself.

Though she's not a healer by magic, Queen Frances is known Kingdoms wide for her home remedies for basic illness – she makes a legendary chicken soup that's reported to cure all but the worst childhood ailments.

The envoy of carriages move aside to allow your passage as your horse thunders past, until you're neck and neck with the lead rider who startles you with a playful declaration of, "Where's the fire?"

You whip your head around and nearly fall off your horse when you recognize Prince Derek. "You know I love your witty banter," you tell him, "But I must return to the Palace post-haste if the Princess is to survive..."

For a moment, the Prince's expression is grave as if he hadn't realized just how grave the Princess' condition truly is. "Then what are we waiting for?" he says emphatically, then clicks his tongue and spurs his horse onwards.

You take off after him, pressing your heels into your horse's side to match his speed.

**If you have some Freesia Flowers, go to Blue 4.**

**If you haven't collected any Freesia Flowers, go to Blue 1.**


	27. Orange 2

_Emily ducked her head to pass through the low entrance to your secret hideout, whistling a few notes to let you know it was her. The stray cat you'd adopted looked up at her from his perch on a sun-soaked column, blinked lazily, then returned to licking his paws. "Morning, Sergio," she cooed, scratching behind his ears._

_Since you'd been banned from the castle upon penalty of death, the two of you had been forced to meet in secret. Technically speaking, you had also been banned from seeing each other, but that had stopped Emily for all of about twenty minutes before she was sneaking out of her chambers to come see you. Together, you'd found a partially collapsed stone hut among the ruins of the old citadel and turned it into a cozy little hideout where you could spend your time together._

_Your face lit up when Emily came into view and you opened your mouth to greet her, but stopped, noticing the sadness in her eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked._

"_It's happened..." she whispered, eyes wide with something like devastation._

"What's _happened?" you urged, crossing the little space to rest a palm on her cheek to get her attention._

_She leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed for several moments. When she opened them again, they shone with barely withheld tears. "It's what we always feared..."_

"_She hasn't..." you breathed. Emily simply nodded. It felt like a punch square in your chest – you couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, rooted to the spot in shock._

_Emily had recently celebrated her sixteenth name day with a lavish party thrown by the Queen (to which you weren't invited) and both of you were well aware as to the Queen's intention: to quickly marry Emily off to the richest and noblest suitor to elevate the Kingdom's standing._

_Emily, of course, had no intention of being married off – not at sixteen, not ever. She'd vowed to you four years ago that you were her one and only and she fully intended to live and die by those words. You knew, though, that what the Queen wanted, she would inevitably get._

"_Who?" you dared to ask, even though you didn't want to know the answer._

"_The King of Valhalla," she said with a warbling voice, hands shaking as they sought out yours to squeeze._

"_But he's..." you said, struggling to find a diplomatic way to speak of the King, "He's so...old."_

_Emily nodded her agreement. "He's also very wealthy and a _King_ – our marriage would ensure trade between the Kingdoms and strengthen peace treaties. Mother says it's an invaluable match."_

"_But you _can't_!" you cried out, your own tears burning at your eyes in spite of your best attempts to keep your emotions in check. "You know what they say about him..."_

_Emily nodded, but she looked resigned to her fate. She said nothing._

"_I don't want you to go..." you whispered, blinking too often._

"_I don't want to go," she insisted._

_You both knew there was no way out of this that wouldn't start a war with the Kingdom of Valhalla – a war that you would almost definitely lose._

"_When do you leave?" you asked, bringing her hands up to your lips so you could press a kiss to them._

"_Overmorrow."_

"_So soon?" You'd hoped there would be more time – time to find a way out, time to say goodbye..._

_She nodded, tears in her eyes._

_You knew this would be the last time you'd ever see her. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but words failed you._

"_I have a gift for you..." she said, struggling to plaster on a smile she didn't truly feel. She reached into the pocket of her gown, pulling out a fine golden chain. "It's a Gimmel Ring," she said, fingering the simple golden band hanging from the necklace. "Betrothed couples each wear one of the rings and then, on their wedding day, they fit together to form one." She cleared her throat. "Obviously, I can't wear my half...but you can hold onto it for me, for safe-keeping, until the day I can."_

_You struggled to form words as she fastened the chair around your neck, then leaned back to examine the effect._

"_Stunning," she declared._

"_Emily, I..." you started, stopped. "I..." You shook your head, offered a watery smile instead._

"_I know," she murmured, understanding perfectly. "I love you too."_

"_I don't know how I'm going to survive without you..."_

"_Whatever it takes, I'll come back to you," she vowed._

* * *

In short order, the road leads you out of the forest into a pleasant little glade. The sun shines brightly down on the meadow, warming your face as you lift it to the sky, and you can hear the pleasant croak of frogs in a nearby pond, the hum of crickets, the twitter of birds. You smile for the first time since that morning, your chest filling with hope that you'll soon be on your way back to the palace with the cure.

A squat but cozy looking stone cottage sits in the middle of the clearing, baking in the sun. Your guard dragon sniffs tentatively at the air – he must sense something of interest inside because before you can react, he takes off from your side, nosing about the exterior of the cottage.

From your vantage point, you notice that the door is slightly ajar – a moment _after _the dragon notices it and, before you can stop him, he slips inside. Cursing internally, you sprint across the clearing after him, hoping to catch him before he sets the thatched roof ablaze.

With trepidation over what kind of chaos you'll find, you push the door open and peer inside – there are three men seated cross-legged on the floor, apparently in silent meditation. None of them appear to notice either your presence or the dragon's, who is currently sniffing with interest at the middle man.

You tiptoe further into the room for fear of breaking their concentration, hissing commands at the dragon who is steadfastly ignoring you. The dragon bares his teeth and starts growling, obviously sensing danger, though you can't be certain where exactly the danger lies.

You've heard stories about the Wise Men, though the truth has long since been clouded by myth and you're uncertain which stories are true and which are false. Rumour has it that two of the men will instantly kill you should you disturb them, the other will show you hospitality, but there's no way to know which man is which.

You clear your throat quietly to alert them to your presence. When they fail to react, you clear your throat a second time, louder now. Still they do not react.

You resign yourself to the fact that you're going to have to approach one of them and tap them on the shoulder in order to break the spell of their meditation.

**If you want to disturb the First Man, go to Red 4.**

**If you want to disturb the Second Man, go to Red 1.**

**If you want to disturb the Third Man, go to Green 4.**


	28. Orange 3

_You remembered nothing of your life before coming to the Faerie Court._

_You were a changeling child – a human girl with a human family who had been replaced with a Faerie child and taken away to live among the Fae. You'd been a baby when you'd been stolen away in the dead of night, your parents but shadows over your cradle in your memory._

_You found you didn't miss them much. You simply assumed the Faeries had had good reason to whisk you away so there was no need to feel sentimental over the family you'd hardly known._

_The Faeries gave you a new name, swaddled your tiny infant form in spider's silk, and nursed you with milk and honey. You lived together with human and Faerie children alike, attended by Elven nurses; you played in the fruit orchards tended by the Nymphs who would feed you fruit and braid flowers into your hair or wandered the palace, making trouble for the Brownies wherever it could be found. The Faerie children grew fast, but stayed youthful for centuries and quickly outgrew their human playmates for whom time acted much slower. You were the youngest and soon found yourself alone in the nursery._

_You didn't mind, though, for the Faeries took care of every need you could ever hope to dream of and though sometimes you found herself wondering where you'd come from and why you'd been chosen, it was never on your mind for very long before it was chased off by another passing fancy._

_Life with the Fae was a constant stream of amusements for a young mind such as yours. Though time passed slower in their realm than it did in mortal lands, there was never a moment where you were bored. You drank of mead that muddled your senses and spent hours chasing after tiny Piskies or helping the Brownies in the kitchen or begging your Elven nanny to dazzle you with magic tricks. Your child-like imagination was never left to itself for very long._

_You grew up knowing you were different, that you were special, but never thought to question why. Then, on your sixth name day, the Faerie Queen – a colourful effervescent Faerie named Penny – brought you before her and sat you upon her knee to tell you why you'd been chosen for this charmed life._

_Before you were born, a prophecy had been made, predicting the birth of a sorceress whose greatness would lie not in her magic, but in her kindness. A sorceress who would one day be instrumental in uniting the Kingdoms under a banner of peace. Not trusting the future of the Kingdoms to mortals, the Fae had taken you to be raised in the shelter of their magic._

_From that day forward, the Queen had spent her days teaching you how to use your powers, but more importantly, teaching you to be good and wise and kind._

_She didn't tell you of the rest of the prophecy, though. The part that spoke of the Princess who was your other half, with whom you would unite the Kingdoms. That part, you had to learn for yourself._

* * *

You can't be certain whether you trust the seer or not, whether there's malice hidden in the murky white depths of her eyes. You wish you could believe in her goodness – in _everyone's _goodness – outright, but that simply isn't the world you live in.

She must sense your hesitation because she smiles, almost sadly. "I wish neither you nor the Princess any harm," she says softly. "I have seen her good heart, her gentle spirit; the Princess has the power to usher in an era of great peace for those with magic and without. Should she survive..."

You open your mouth to ask why, then, she cannot simply _give _you the remedy.

"Because that is not the way," she answers your unasked question. "It is not up to me. You must make the choice yourself. I cannot interfere with the freewill of those who seek me out."

You consider debating whether this truly falls under the realm of freewill – afterall, she is of magic and those of supernatural abilities are often fond of loopholes and contests of wit – but ultimately decide against it, as you've tangled with too many Fae to think that outsmarting someone is always the quicker route.

After a moment's debate, you tap the box of your choosing, the wooden chest making a satisfying hollow thunking sound. The seer nods knowingly, your choice long since having been laid bare to her. If you aren't mistaken, you think you see the ghost of a smile cross her lips (you can't help but think that, if it weren't for her otherworldly eyes, she'd be beautiful with her soft features and cornsilk hair).

She opens the box to reveal a small jar of pressed purple flowers.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you clap a hand to your mouth to keep any sound from escaping. With your other hand, you grasp the edge of the table, not entirely sure you trust your legs to support you in that moment. You let out a shaky sigh of relief, a small smile crossing your lips.

The seer watches your reaction with mild interest. "Congratulations," she says at last. "You have chosen well. You'd best hurry and return to your Princess. Time is still of the essence." She lightly jostles the lynx sleeping at her feet. "Miekle, show her out."

You thank the seer, curtseying low to the floor. She has shown you great kindness, but that generosity could be fickle and you remain on your best behaviour lest you anger her at the last possible moment and undo all the good you've done thus far. You turn on your heel to leave, eager to be on your way back to Laurentia.

"Wait," she calls before you can flee. "Give the Princess this, would you?" She hands you a small ornate blackbird carved of onyx. The stone bird is cool in your palm and heavier than it should be. When you close your fingers around it, you can feel all its sharp angles digging into the flesh of your hand.

You open your mouth to ask after the origin of the carving and its significance, but before you can get the words out, she waves you off and you decide it's best not to anger her with unnecessary queries. You curtsey once again, backing slowly from the room.

The lynx, Miekle apparently, blinks sleepily at you as it stands at the top of the stairs, waiting for you to follow, eager for you to leave.

**Go to Blue 2.**


	29. Orange 4

Riddles have never been your strong suit. And you don't entirely trust the Sphinx to keep her word should you win. You came too close to death to ever fully trust another Sphinx...

Without giving the Sphinx a chance to react, you turn on your heel and run for the mouth of the cave. Storm or no storm, you're not about to take a chance by waiting there a single second longer.

As you near the entrance, the Sphinx howls with rage. You feel, rather than hear, her pound one mighty paw against the ground, sending the earth beneath you rattling like an earthquake. You let out a cry of surprise as the ground heaves and roils and you lose your feet.

You scramble on your hands and knees, desperate for freedom, but to no avail as a large boulder falls in your path, closing off the entrance, leaving you trapped.

"_No_!" you wail, regaining your feet and leaning against the boulder, pushing with all your might, though you already know it's far too large for you to ever move it.

The Sphinx watches your desperate struggling with mild interest, finding amusement in your weak attempts, but eventually tiring of it. She yawns widely, her pink cat tongue stretching out from between her intimidating jaws.

She extends one paw, hooking the end of your cloak with a sharp claw and dragging you backwards towards her. The clasp about your throat is choking you and you scrabble to undo it before you black out; the Sphinx gives a little laugh at your desperate bugging eyes. "Don't worry," she coos, "There's no sense in killing you just yet...no fun in that either."

You purse your lips together as she releases your cloak and you can finally breathe again. You'd comment about not playing with your food, but you're still catching your breath and you aren't quite ready to think of yourself as an easy meal.

"It's a pity..." the Sphinx muses, unsheathing her claws and examining them with disinterest. "I was so looking forward to _playing _with you – perhaps you might've even won your sought-after remedy. And now...you won't get the chance to save your damsel in distress. You'll have to die knowing that no one is coming to save her, that you _failed_ her."

"So long as I draw breath, I have not failed her," you vow, fists clenching at your sides. You struggle to keep them from trembling and giving away your fear. "I'll sooner die than give up."

The Sphinx laughs – and not kindly. "You don't see it yet, do you? You still think there's hope, that you have a chance..." She shakes her head, clicks her tongue. "You won't be leaving here alive. Years ago, you escaped certain death, but you won't be so lucky a second time."

You consider asking how she knows about that, but think perhaps you'd rather not know. It doesn't matter anyway. Instead, you focus all your energy on evaluating an escape strategy.

There's no way you can possibly move the boulder blocking the mouth of the cave, not even with magic – you simply aren't that powerful. There's a possibility there's a second secret entrance to the cave through the bowels of the mountain, but you'd have to get past the Sphinx to reach it, should it exist, and therein lies the problem...

Sphinx hides are impervious to all magic and you have only a small dagger hidden in your boot that you'll never get close enough to use. It doesn't take a seer to know that this isn't going to end well for you...

As if reading your mind's desperate reeling, with a lazy flick of her wrist, the Sphinx knocks you to the ground, trapping you in place with one paw on your chest and you know that if she should release her claws, it's all over for you. You struggle against the weight of the massive paw, gasping for breath, even though you know it's of no use.

You shoot off a few spells anyway, more out of desperation than any well-thought-out plan, but most of them go wide and fail to hit the Sphinx at all.

She laughs at your futile attempts. "You shouldn't have come here," she chides, simpering with false concern. She traces one claw down the side of your face, toying with you. "It's been so very long since I tasted the sweet blood of a sorceress. So long since I tasted human blood at all. I've had nothing but rat for far too long; you have no idea how absolutely inedible rat blood is..."

You growl low in your throat, shoot off a spell that catches the Sphinx's nose – it won't do any real harm, but it's strong enough to sting.

The Sphinx sneezes as the spell pops and sizzles against the flesh of its nose and you feel a small sense of vindication to at least have left at least a small mark on your foe. She glares down at you. "Just for that, I think I'll savour you..." she muses. "I was going to be merciful and kill you quickly, but now..." She licks her lips. "It would be shame to spill all your blood at once and have you go to waste."

"If you're going to kill me, just do it," you hiss, teeth gritted to keep yourself from crying out in pain as you feel ribs snapping beneath the weight of the giant paw.

"Where's the fun in that? I want you to _see _death coming, to _know _you've been bested, that you've _failed_. I'm going to draw this out as long as possible until you wish for death, until you _beg _me for it."

"I'll _never _beg," you retort. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

"Oh, you will," she insists. "They all beg eventually. Sooner or later, you'll be just like all the rest..."

"Fuck you," you snarl.

She grins widely, showing all her gleaming white teeth. "I'm going to have my fun with you..."


	30. Orange 5

You snuggle down comfortably in the bed, asleep the second your head hits the down pillow.

Your sleep is deep and dreamless and it feels like you've been asleep for hours – possibly even days – when the Grey Wizard gently shakes you awake. You sit up with a start, looking about at your surroundings, confused and concerned, unable to remember where you are and how you'd gotten there.

"Fear not, child," the Wizard assures. "You're safe here. No harm can befall you while you're under my roof and my protection."

Slowly, your memory starts to return to your sleep-addled brain, piece by piece until you remember why you're there in the first place: the Princess. You gasp sharply, clapping a hand to your mouth. Who knows how long you'd slept, how much time you'd wasted, how much worse the Princess has gotten while you lazed away... "What time is it?" you demand. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Only an hour," the Wizard assures you. A glance out the window confirms that the sun has hardly moved from its place in the sky. Evidently, he'd kept his promise to wake you after only a short while and you're grateful for that.

You hum a small note of surprise. "It felt so much longer..." you muse, more to yourself than to the Wizard. You yawn, stretch, feeling incredibly refreshed for only an hour's rest. Ordinarily, your sleep is shallow and restless and you rarely wake well-rested, so this is a welcome turn of events.

He nods knowingly. "Time has a funny habit of behaving strangely in these beds..." he says mysteriously. You can't be entirely certain whether he means that literally or if he simply means that they're so comfortable that a few hours' sleep is the equivalent to a much longer rest in a regular bed. Truthfully, it could be either.

You're loathe to climb out of the bed, leaving the warmth of the luxuriant furs and blankets behind (if it hadn't been for the urgency of your mission, you can't honestly say you wouldn't have spent entire days in that bed), but you stand dutifully, ready to continue on.

You swing your feet out of bed and slip them into your boots, beginning the complex and arduous process of lacing them up. They aren't entirely practical, but the Princess had had them cobbled for you after you'd gotten bit on the ankle by a rattlesnake years ago, back when you'd worn deerskin moccasins instead of a more practical boot, simply because they were quieter (and more comfortable). You hadn't died, obviously, but it had been too close a call for the Princess' liking, so she insisted you wear something with ankle protection and you loved her far too much to argue about the matter.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you stand and turn to face the Grey Wizard who is watching you with mild interest. "Have you managed to find some Freesia?" you inquire, polite but urgent. While you are refreshed and grateful for the chance to recuperate, your patience is quickly waning and you're eager to be on your way once again – hopefully, back to the castle with a remedy in hand.

"Tell me again what's happened to the princess?" he gently encourages, without bothering to provide a straight answer. Without waiting for your reply, he retreats down the stairs again, so you're forced to follow him, glaring at his retreating back as he continues to waste time, seemingly aimlessly.

You sigh, but indulge his curiosity, describing the note you'd received from the Queen mere hours ago. "When I arrived at the Laurentian Palace, a sombre disquiet lay upon it – you could tell they feared the worst. Indeed, at first I did as well... The Princess had all the hallmarks of the Spindle Sickness which, as you know, has no cure. But she bore no tell-tale mark upon her finger to indicate thusly."

The Wizard nodded slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "And what has lead you to conclude it is the Pox?" You can't quite tell if his words are motivated by simple curiosity, an abundance of caution, or whether he truly doubts your skill as a healer. If he weren't wiser and more powerful than you (and if he hadn't just shown you such hospitality), you might have chosen to be offended. As it was, though, you give him the benefit of the doubt.

"She hasn't yet developed the pock marks," you say, "But I feel certain it is only a matter of time and I could not afford to wait for them to appear. The only chance one has against the Pox is to administer the Freesia nectar before the first marks develop."

"Indeed," he says simply. "And what has lead you here, rather than into the depths of the Dark Forest from whence it grows?"

"I intended to venture there," you reply, "But the Gideon Tree made it clear to me that it would be a journey to my own death and that you might be in possession of some instead."

If rumour was to be believed, once upon a time, the Grey Wizard and the Gideon Tree had been an inseparable pair, pioneering magical spells and healing techniques no one had yet thought of. Together, they changed the way people used magic. But while the Gideon Tree started on the path that would one day make him, well, a tree...the Grey Wizard instead became a hermit and shied away from the boastful nature that would condemn his once friend and compatriat.

"And if I do not possess some?"

"Then the Princess will surely die," you say gravely. "For I have not the time to quest through the Dark Forest any longer." You feel tears pricking at your eyes. "Please," you whisper, "Do you have any Freesia?"

"Do you, by any chance, have some coffee?" the Grey Wizard asks, almost apropos of nothing.

"C-coffee?" you repeat incredulously.

He nods. "I do love a good strong cup of coffee and it's so very rare in these parts..." he laments. "Entire ages of the world have passed since I last enjoyed a cup."

"I..." you stutter, taken aback by the odd request. "I-umm..."

"I would be ever so grateful if you might have some to share..."

**If you have some coffee, go to Purple 3.**

**If you do not have any coffee, go to Yellow 2.**


End file.
